Charles vs His Destiny
by Arathorn73
Summary: AU. The CIA and Fulcrum never reached Stanford in 2002. It has really changed Chuck, Bryce, Sarah, and others. Will the future be significantly different, too, or are some things just inevitable?
1. Happy Birthday?

**Los Angeles  
****September 24, 2007  
****5:15 a.m.**

The alarm clock's insistent buzzing struggled to pull Charles from sleep. His dreams, the ones of shapes sliding together, chased by endless reams of paper with strange markings, clung tenaciously in the recesses of his mind. Groaning slightly, Charles reached out an arm and slapped the snooze button. Why had he ever gone away from just letting music wake him? Oh, yeah, because it no longer did. A good night's sleep was just one of many things that now eluded him.

Looking over at the sleeping form next to him, he wondered how she could sleep through the sound. She'd always been a deep sleeper, but the last few months had pushed new limits. Maybe it was from getting home so late at night. Pushing the thought aside, Charles climbed out of bed and forced himself to shower. The water helped wake him up so that he didn't stumble much on his trip downstairs to make his breakfast and coffee. He brewed enough for two, even though he spent the early morning alone. A note on the table was his only communication with his wife.

Thoughts of the previous night's playtest session with Morgan filled his mind as he drove to work. The computer opponent was getting better all the time, but it still wasn't good enough to publish, not as it was. He felt on the cusp of understanding what needed to be done to fix the last few glitches, but the exact elements continued to evade him. He was so close, though, he could almost taste it.

Arriving at the small building which housed his company, he had to unlock the door which he had locked just a few hours earlier. It wasn't like he was the only one with a key, but he did seem to always be the first to arrive and the last to leave. Well, he reflected, it's not like there was much reason to be home, anyway.

It was almost an hour later before the rest of Charles's small programming team arrived. He always made the effort to greet each of them as they came in. Anna being the first to arrive was little surprise. She was far and away the most promising of the employees he'd lured away with his little enterprise. Not only did she have great skills with computers, she actually cared enough to do the job she was assigned, instead of something random. Charles did little more than greet her, as she was working on a long-term project and didn't need additional direction today.

Jeff and Lester were the next to arrive, reasonably early for them. Jeff's look had that not-quite-completely-focused look that signified it was still early, at least for him. It wouldn't go completely unfocused until almost lunchtime. Lester appeared to be having one of his hoping-to-pull-a-con days. His demeanor had that extra shiftiness which indicated he was hoping to get away with even more than usual. Getting work out of these two was an art – you had to hit them early in the day and assign exactly three projects, two of which were important and relatively small and the third of which was completely useless but seemed difficult. It had taken Charles months to master, but he now felt they almost justified their paychecks. He just didn't have it in his heart to fire them. And, honestly, he wasn't sure he could lure in more programmers anyway – not at the rates he had to pay.

His best friend walked in next, looking sharp as always in a three-piece suit. Everybody else in the office wore extremely casual clothes, but Bryce always looked his best. And Bryce's best was something that caught attention. His advertising skill had helped them on so many occasions, getting additional funding or finding just the right ad to keep sales up to make the quarterly requirements. For all his help and friendship, though, Charles thought Bryce was sometimes just too smooth for his own good.

"Chuck!" Bryce called. Bryce was one of very few people who still called him that. "You missed a great party last night. The girls were ridiculously hot. And …"

Charles interrupted him. "Umm…Bryce. Two problems. One, I'm married, remember? You were my best man? And, two, somebody had to stay here and playtest with Morgan, since we still don't have the AI built yet."

Bryce and Charles had worked together on too many projects to count. After Stanford, they'd immediately started selling some of the games they'd written in their spare time. That had provided them with enough money to start their own little company, and a series of small successes had kept them in business ever since. In many ways, the two still behaved like college friends, teasing and tweaking the other whenever the opportunity presented itself.

"Pfftt… You're too whipped. Live a little. Man, there was this one hottie there, dark hair and those stern academic glasses you love so much. You'd've been perfect. I mean, I was hitting on her hot red-head friend, but she was so hot to trot – couldn't keep her hands off me. Even though I wasn't that interested, I ended up with both. They did this thing where…" Bryce's eyes twinkled with mirth.

"Bryce. Bryce! That's enough! I don't need to hear about your exploits every morning." He hadn't married for looks – he'd married for the person on the inside. Well, at least mostly for the person he had thought was on the inside. The fact that things at home had been less than hopping in the bedroom made the last thing he wanted to hear about was how his almost-partner and friend continued to be such a huge hit with all the ladies. Especially not today. Normally, he replied with teasing of his own, but he just didn't have it in him.

"Sorry." The word dripped with sarcasm. "What's with the grumpy attitude?"

"Nothing. Just … This computer AI is so close to what we need/want. It will revolutionize the gaming industry. But there's just something missing." That wasn't all that was bothering Charles, but the rest was not something he was going to talk about, not even to Bryce Larkin.

"I know. I'm pitching it again today. Some mysterious angel investors. I'm trying not to promise too much. But I know you. You never get close without finishing something." Bryce's conviction in Charles's abilities was matched only by Charles's faith in Bryce.

"Ain't that the truth," said Morgan, intruding on the conversation. "He has this killer instinct that is scary. Never let him near you with any weapon." Having commented, Morgan then wandered over to the desk. In addition to being one of their best playtesters, the short, bearded man watched the front and directed calls during the day. Mostly, it meant he played other games.

Responding to Bryce's raised eyebrow, Charles explained, "We needed a couple breaks last night and Halo 3 was right there. You know how sore a loser Morgan is." Bryce nodded and the two executives went to their offices for their workday.

Charles's day was one headache after another. He'd made progress on getting his code to do what he wanted. It was performing beautifully, in fact, but it was just too slow. For the game to work, it needed to be faster and work with more variables. And/or run on a supercomputer well beyond what most people had in their homes, he reflected ruefully.

Charles ate lunch in his office, working on the program, only occasionally leaving to check the progress of the other employees. As expected, Bryce was mostly working, Anna was working, Morgan was playing and Jeff and Lester were involved in setting up something that looked suspiciously like a party. Charles hoped so, so he didn't disturb them.

As 5:00 came and went, so did most of the people. Bryce, Morgan, and Charles were the only ones there. Surprisingly, though, Charles was ready to leave before the others. He poked his head into Bryce's office. "Lock up before you go, will you?"

"Leaving already? What's the occasion?"

"Oh, nothing, nothing." Charles replied a bit too quickly. Since the party Jeff and Lester were planning hadn't been here, he hoped it was back home. The defeated attitude from the code carried over, though, and he doubted it would be. Sighing softly, to himself, he continued, "Just feeling the need to get out early today, I guess."

"OK, buddy. Give that hot wife of yours one for me, too, OK?"

"Will you please stop talking about her that way? You know I don't like that."

"It's true. I'm surprised you're not home more often. All that tail and not needing to chase it? That's the life, man."

"Just … just … stay out of it, OK?" Charles thought about how little his friend really understood. Being married did not mean 'tail' all the time. And certainly not without chasing. Not wanting to let his frustration show to his friend, Charles turned to leave. He only took two steps, however, before turning back.

"How'd the meeting with the investor go?"

Bryce looked back up from his computer, becoming serious. "Really well, I think. They asked a lot of good questions. I almost think they might send someone out to see a demo."

"More money?" Charles wasn't happy thinking about money, but the company needed more, if they were going to keep going. Bryce understood that, too. They didn't need to talk about it.

"They seemed interested. I'm not sure they're fully on the line yet, though. They're really hard to read, though, so I don't know."

"Someone you can't read? Gotta be a guy, then." Bryce's skill at understanding people and being able to guide them where he wanted was one of the reasons for their early success. He still had the art, Charles knew, but he too often directed it towards nubile females instead of potential business partners.

"For your information, Chuck, it was a woman and a man. Both very serious-looking."

"Must be, if you can't impress them. Anyway, keep up the good work. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Night, man."

**

* * *

**

CIA Headquarters at Langley

**4:20 p.m.**

Director Graham looked across his desk at the agent standing at attention before him. "What am I going to do with you?"

"Sir?" Her voice gave away no emotion, nor did her stance. Of all his agents, this one was one of the best at hiding herself. Heck, she was one of the best at almost everything, which is why he put up with all of the other things that went along with her.

"Another partner who refuses to return to work with you? What's going on?"

"At least this one is alive, sir. I believe that was your direct order. Alive and unharmed."

"Yes, damnit, but you have to learn to let someone help you. Every agent, even one as good as you are, needs dependable back-up."

The blonde seemed to consider these words for a moment. "Maybe if you found me a dependable partner, I would accept back-up."

Director Graham sighed. He'd already tried most of his most promising agents with her, of various ages, both genders, and with diverse skill sets. None of them seemed to have any effect. "I will look into that. For now, you have a new mission."

"Cover?"

"Suzanne Winkleman. You are the agent of a group of potential angel investors interested in a particular product from the software company BarLar, Inc. in Los Angeles. They make computer games." The director handed across a half-inch thick manila folder containing the rest of the mission brief.

"A game company, sir?" Asking the question, her eyebrows raised the amount exactly calculated to keep the conversation going. Instructors at the academy weren't so precise with their movements.

"Yes. See their product, evaluate their people, for now."

"Sounds too easy, sir. What's the catch?"

"It should be routine. But it's extremely high priority, so I'm sending you. Depending on the initial recon, it could get very interesting, too."

"Very good. I'll be in touch."

"Oh, and Sarah? These people are civilians, not professionals. Play nice, OK?"

She looked back at him for a long moment before nodding.

**

* * *

**

Los Angeles

**Charles's House  
****6:24 p.m.**

Charles had finally banished all calculations and code from his mind. He was going to enjoy tonight, and that meant not thinking about work. However, as the garage door ratcheted upwards, his heart sank. No red Mustang waited for him. Despondently, he parked his Prius and got out.

His last hope was dashed as he opened the door into darkness that wasn't filled without expectant whispers or the smell of bake. "Happy birthday to me", he muttered as he tossed his keys to their basket near the door.

Sighing, he walked into the kitchen to find himself some food. The answering machine blinked at him. Pressing play, he heard Ellie's exuberant voice. "Happy birthday, Chuck! If you can spare some time from your glamorous life and parties, call me. I'll be at work tonight, but I always have time for my favorite brother. I love you." Somehow, her cheerfulness just added to his funk. She thought he had it all, but he didn't. Not anymore.

Grabbing a beer from the fridge, he walked upstairs to change, scrupulously avoiding the table in the kitchen. After changing into shorts and a very old ComicCon t-shirt (he'd missed the last four years, sadly), Charles retreated back downstairs, in quest of food. This time, he couldn't help himself and he looked at the kitchen table. A note greeted him, with words he'd seen too often. "I've got a late thing tonight. Don't wait up. Jill."

No cards. No cake. No party. Not even birthday love-making. Heck, if not for his sister's call, he would have thought nobody knew it was his birthday. Well, he knew. Sudden motivation seized him and he stood up. Searching through the pantry and cabinets, he found his targets – candles, matches, and cake – well, cheap snack rolls. Forcing in a couple candles nearly destroyed the small cakes, but Charles made the candles stay up. After turning out the lights, Charles struck a match and lit the candles, the disappointment on his face brought into stark reality by the flickering light. Closing his eyes, he made a wish and blew out the candles.

Light brought back the reality of the situation – alone with nearly destroyed chocolate. "Pathetic," Charles muttered, as he picked up the cakes and headed to his room. Climbing alone into a bed for two just reinforced his conclusion.

_R&R, please. PLEASE?!?_


	2. Act 2 They Meet

_Can't believe I forgot this last time. Big thanks to sharpasamarble and brickroad for helpful beta comments and making the story better every time I send it out._

**

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**

Los Angeles  
**September 25, 2007  
****5:15 a.m.**

Once again, Charles fumbled for the snooze button in the predawn hours. At least his dreams hadn't interrupted his sleep, for once. Maybe that extra year of age really did help one deal with stress, he mused as he undressed. He luxuriated in the feeling of his morning shower washing away the final remnants of the previous night's depression, as it needed to do too often. The water was nice and warm today – it usually took many minutes before it was consistent. Unless someone else had showered recently.

That thought occupied his mind. Would Jill have taken a shower after getting home? Why? She was a morning shower-taker. Intrigued, he checked her towel. Definitely damp. He turned the thought of why she would shower over in his mind as he went through his morning routine of shaving and getting dressed.

As he headed downstairs, he grabbed his iPhone. It showed 3 missed calls and a few received text messages. Had he missed something last night? Some surprise party location he was supposed to have spontaneously known to attend?

The first message was an excited Bryce: "Those investors are sending someone named Suzanne Winkelman to check out our operation. She'll be here tomorrow at ten o'clock. Chuck, you know how important this is. Look the part so we can impress her." Bryce cared a lot more for appearance than Charles ever did, but he knew better than to disagree with his friend's salesmanship.

The second message was Morgan —"Dude, you done living your party life? If you have five to forty-five extra minutes, you should really come check out Heavenly Sword. It's ground-breaking." Every game Morgan ever played was ground-breaking. It's like every game he played was the first one ever. At times endearing, it occasionally wore on Charles's patience. Today, it brought a smile. Something just seemed to be in the air that morning – the anticipation of good news. The third caller left no message.

The text messages were simple. "Beer is my best friend" from Jeff. "Happy birthday, bro!" from Ellie's boyfriend, the man Charles called Captain Awesome. And, last and least, "We're lost somewhere in Burbank. HELP!" from Lester.

After breakfast, Charles went back up and changed into his suit, which he always hated doing. It constricted his neck and typing in long sleeves was a skill he had never really mastered. Something about the pressure on his wrists just made his fingers miss. He mentally abandoned hope of finishing the project today.

Almost out of the room, Charles paused and walked back in. Kissing Jill on the cheek, he asked, "Everything OK, hon?"

One bleary eye opened a slit. "Mmmm-hmmm. Just tired." She snuggled back under the covers.

Placing a hand on her shoulder, Charles asked, "We still on for dinner with Ellie and Devon tonight?" Jill refused to call Devon by anything but his proper name. If Charles even used the term "Captain Awesome" in a sentence, Jill would refuse to acknowledge the entire sentence.

Her nod probably symbolized acquiescence, but it could have just been finding a more comfortable spot on the pillow. Once again, Charles had to wonder about the damp towel and the extreme exhaustion. Realizing that he didn't have any solid answers and not liking the possible answers he was envisioning, he pushed the thought violently from his mind. He had a potential company-saving investor to meet today. He could spare mental cycles for Jill in the evening.

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.

**9:58 a.m.**

"What was her name again?" Charles asked, clearly uneasy with the situation. He and Bryce were waiting near the front of their little office, while Morgan sat attentively at the little entrance desk, without even a game controller in his hand.

Their little building was mostly made of brick, so there was little natural light. While this had certain advantages (especially for Jeff), it meant that visitors could walk through the glass doors (proudly labeled 4210) with basically no warning. Morgan's elevated desk was the only one remotely facing the entrance. The general employees worked off to the side and the execs in the back. The entrance area was quite unimposing and boring, as they did no direct sales there. However, the presence of the three men was an attempt at impressing the pending visitor, who might hold the fate of the company in her hands.

"Suzanne Winkelman. Probably some flabby 50-year-old biddy with more money than brains. We need this money – be on your best behavior. Remember, Suzanne Winkelman. Think you can get that straighter than your tie?"

"What's wrong with my tie?"

"Nothing, if we were a company of baboons. Turn here." Charles turned to face Bryce while the latter concentrated on shrinking and centering the tie's knot. Both were too occupied with what they were doing to hear the whisper of the door opening.

It was Morgan who first spoke. "Stop the presses, it's Vicky Vale!"

The blonde bombshell who entered was most definitely no 50-year-old biddy. Clad in a simple pink top and a gray skirt, she had a smile that somehow seemed just too good for their little business. She had brilliant cerulean eyes of limitless depth and piercing sharpness. The sound of three sets of lungs filling turned the other employees' eyes in her direction. Her eyes quickly discarded Morgan and considered Charles and Bryce. Making her decision, she went to Charles, holding out her hand. "Mr. Bartowski? I am Suzanne Winkelman."

Charles stared at her two blinks too long, before gently taking her hand and giving it a timid shake. "A pleasure to meet you, Ms. Winkelman. Please, call me Charles." Somehow, he couldn't take his eyes off the most angelic of all angel investors. He berated himself for his weakness; after all, he was married. Still, it wasn't everyday that such light walked into a person's life. Was this the positive feeling he'd felt earlier today?

"Oh, call me Suzanne," she said, her eyes still peering into his. With what seemed to be a great effort, she dragged them over to the smaller, blue-eyed man standing next to him. "You must be Mr. Larkin."

"Enchanté." Bryce took her hand and brushed it lightly against his lips. "And, please, call me Bryce." Charles rolled his eyes at his partner's behavior, but Suzanne smiled happily. It figured, Charles thought, Bryce always got the great girls, even the angels.

Bryce and Charles gave Suzanne the brief tour, past the goggle-eyed Lester and Jeff, the focused Anna, and led her to the demonstration room. The two men played a couple of demonstration games for her, showing how the background moved and adapted, while extolling the virtues of the game, as they would to any other avid gamer. Suzanne was quickly lost, but her pose of attention never wavered.

Once she sensed the practiced pitch was essentially over, she asked the question she had flown across the United States to understand in person. "What about single-player? How's the computer opponent work?"

"Well, it's brilliant," said Bryce. "It really mines how you play and correlates that with other playstyles to determine the optimal counter. We've really worked hard to limit it to the information that a real human opponent would have, so it has to match partial data with a huge potential database of rea…"

Morgan picked that moment to interrupt. "Bry … I mean, Mr. Larkin, Mr. Bartowski – may I have a moment?" The two looked at him suspiciously. Was this another "emergency" involving rival gamers? His earnest look provided no clues.

They both moved over, where a whispered conversation, still easily overhead, was held.

Morgan started. "There's a guy on the phone – another investor, I think. He's most anxious to, and I quote, speak to someone who isn't a fucking idiot, endquote. I believe that means you, Bryce."

Bryce snuck a quick glance at Suzanne. "Are you sure? I think my particular touch is needed here."

"You touch enough, don't you?" Morgan asked.

"Guys, stop!" Charles got their attention. "Bryce, you rule at first impressions with investors and you know it. We've moved to technical stuff here. I can handle this. Just go."

"On one condition." Charles's quick nod indicated Bryce should continue, which he did. "Get me a date with her."

"Bryce, she's out of all of our leagues, combined. Besides, we need the money more than your libido needs another conquest."

Morgan couldn't let that pass. "Never underestimate the needs of a man's libido, dude."

"What he said. But, just give it a shot, OK?"

Charles nodded unhappily, before turning to walk back towards Suzanne, while Morgan and Bryce left the room.

Suzanne smiled at Charles as he returned, batting her eyelashes. "Business interruption done? Wonderful. Now could you explain this whole computer AI to me in more depth?" He smiled back in return, wondered briefly about what she had in her eyes, and launched into an explanation of how the computer decoded images, stored images, and cross-checked them to look for similarities and matching patterns. He found Suzanne to be an attentive listener, a rarity for him. She even smiled at some of his occasional verbal gaffes, or at least he thought she did. He didn't notice the hidden electronics which were recording and sending his every word to her superiors.

Nearly an hour had passed and Bryce had still not returned. Charles chanced a glance at his watch and saw that it was 12:40. He knew, from experience, that Bryce always took out potential customers and investors for lunch at 1:00. So, with reluctance, he broke off his speech. "I'm probably boring you. You've been sitting there just listening to me. Don't you think we should take a break and get some lunch? Bryce likes to dine with all potential clients personally."

Suzanne nodded and stood up and stretched, "Lunch sounds wonderful." Charles's eyes tracked her stretch, in spite of his best efforts. Did she do that for him? Almost subconsciously, his left thumb moved to caress his ring. He was married. He should be above such things. His eyes never left Suzanne.

Charles took her to Bryce's office, saddened a bit to be passing her back to his partner's wiles. Real time with a real woman wasn't something he'd had in a while and he missed it. To his surprise, though, Bryce was still on the phone and computer, working frantically. As he pondered what this meant, a paper airplane nearly hit him in the nose. He stumbled backwards, windmilling his arms for balance, losing all semblance of the cool panache he'd been trying to exude. Why did Bryce have to pick this moment to resume playing practical jokes?

His glare focused on Bryce, Charles missed Suzanne's reaction of bemusement and her casual snatching of the plane from the air. The paper returning under his nose caught his attention, though it was now unfolded and Bryce's writing met his eyes. "Can't get away. Big bucks possible. Take her to Gindi Thai – reservations at 1:00."

"I guess you'll be forced to put up with me a while longer." Suzanne's smile indicated that she didn't mind at all.

"It's only a few blocks and the weather is beautiful. Shall we walk?" Charles smiled at Suzanne's nod.

The walk to the restaurant took longer than it should have, because Charles stopped a few times to put coins into parking meters. After the third one, Suzanne couldn't contain herself any longer. "Why do you do that?"

Charles looked at her curiously and then shrugged. "Just … seems the right thing to do."

"But they'll never know who did it."

"All the more reason to do it." He turned and continued the walk, not noticing the nearly-indiscernible flash of admiration followed by confusion flit across Suzanne's face.

* * *

**Gindi Thai Restaurant  
****1:44 p.m.**

"…so there we were, me and Bryce, dressed up as Master Chief..." A look of confusion crossed Suzanne's face, causing him to pause.

"Who?"

"Master Chief, from Halo. Scary suit. Big guns. Halo?"

"Ummm…sorry, never even heard of it."

"You represent investors for a game and you've never heard of Halo?"

"Oh, I'm just teasing you," she replied so convincingly that he wanted to believe her. But either this comment or the previous apology was the best acting he'd ever seen. He just wasn't sure which one it was.

Shaking it off, he continued, "Anyway, big guns, weird costume, and we're screaming like mad, when we round a corner and see at least a hundred cops, who do not look amused, in the least."

Suzanne was smiling openly, now, seemingly lost in the story. "So what did you do?"

He looked at her with his brows furrowed. "I did what I had to." He paused for a melodramatic second. "I ran like hell."

Suzanne chuckled lightly, before her phone interrupted them with a ding. She pulled it out and entered a quick succession of digits. Her eyes scanned the text message efficiently. "Good data. New missions: 1. Acquire code. 2. Determine author. Be nice – we may need these people. Legality not required." Suzanne's smile broadened as she read the part about legality not required.

The excitement on her face was obvious. Charles couldn't stop a question from blurting out, "Love note from your boyfriend?"

"No, not a boyfriend. I don't have a boyfriend." Suzanne didn't even look offended at the question. Her posture was inviting the inevitable follow-up question.

"Then you have to come to dinner at my sister's tonight. Umm…not with me, I mean… I'd love to have you for dinner, but … Wait, let me start over. Does that mean you be interested in coming to my sister's for dinner tonight, on a date?" She started to nod before he even added, "I mean, a date with Bryce?"

**

* * *

**

Los Angeles  
**1:56 p.m.**

In a nondescript room in a nondescript apartment, a man with olive skin, a scar under his left eye, and dark, spiky hair glared at nothing, with a cell phone held to his ear.

"Yes," the annoying man on the other end of the phone, Bryce, was saying, "I understand your position and our predicament. But our source code is our own. I'm sorry, but that's final."

The man hung up the phone, with a cross between disappointment and excitement. The promise of money hadn't been enough. That increased the likelihood that the code was indeed valuable, but it almost made it imperative to move quickly. Moving was something Tommy enjoyed, but haste left open more openings for problems.

Regardless, it was a time for decisiveness. He punched a few buttons on his phone. "It's Tommy. We move tonight. 4210 West McFarlane."

_More R&R always desired!_


	3. Dinner and More

_I would blame sharpasamarble for the delay but y'all would see through the deception -- it's my fault this was slow. A couple points just stuck and didn't smooth out like I'd hoped. I am trying to update quickly, I promise! Thanks to brickroad for her beta read, too._

**

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**

Courtyard Outside Ellie's Apartment  
**September 25****th  
****6:29 p.m.**

In a courtyard graced by a fountain without running water, a beautiful, blonde woman and a handsome, dark-haired man walked. They weren't hurrying, even though they were late for their dinner date.

Sarah waited patiently for Bryce to ring the doorbell at the apartment they were to visit. She had dressed in a skintight lavender dress, without even a flak jacket. It was designed to make an impression this evening and it had not disappointed. When he had come to her hotel room, flowers in hand, he had been overwhelmed, though he covered it up well. He had shown her every courtesy, and she had found herself truly enjoying the attention. His openness, desiring nothing more than her, was a refreshing change from most marks with whom she had interacted.

A thin, attractive brunette answered the door. The similarities between her and Charles were obvious, so this was his sister, Ellie. It wasn't necessary to show off this knowledge, however, so she waited for the inevitable introduction, which Bryce provided. "Ellie, may I present Suzanne Winkelman, who is here representing some potential investors in BarLar? Suzanne, this is Charles's sister, Ellie Bartowski."

"Nice to meet you," she said, shaking the older woman's hand gently. Sarah got the distinct impression that Ellie had met many of Bryce's "girlfriends" in the past. The warmth came across, but Sarah's long experience informed her that the brunette's hospitability was a bit forced, even for a potential investor in her brother's company. Being liked was not a luxury agents could afford.

"You, too. Over there is my boyfriend, Devon Woodcomb." She waved her fingers to the well-built blonde man that Ellie had indicated. Sarah took in the apartment – it was obviously one decorated by a woman. It was very warm and inviting, unlike the typical places she visited. The furniture was casual and looked comfortable. Two sets of keys in a case near the entrance and the magazines on the table were enough clues for her to conclude that Devon and Ellie were living together. Sarah took in all the details quickly, also planning escape routes, should a rapid exit prove necessary.

Charles arrived a few minutes later with another brunette. Sarah quickly deduced that her chest was as phony and plastic as her smile, and that neither was very convincing. Charles handled those introductions. "Suzanne, this is my wife, Jill Bartowski. Jill, Suzanne is here to evaluate our company for some investors."

Jill put out a cool, limp hand. "Nice to meet you, Suzanne." The tone of voice wasn't icy, so much as it was completely devoid of anything – no excitement, no hint of jealousy, nothing. Sarah had never before met such a singularly boring character, devoid of any truly distinguishing features.

The meal was excellent. Ellie served a delicious manicotti and accompanying red wine. Sarah paid more attention to the posture and style of interaction between the people than she did the actual conversation. Bryce had sat next to her, of course, and Jill had casually sat between her and Charles. Did Jill feel protective or was it just habit? Sarah couldn't be certain.

One thing was certain – Sarah's wine glasss was frequently empty. Bryce seemed to delight in refilling it, with knowing glances at both Charles and Devon. He didn't really notice how much he was drinking himself, since his glass never really seemed to need filling – at least not by anyone other than Sarah. Sarah herself drank very little, just enough to not be overly obvious.

Eventually, Devon's animated voice was too much and she started concentrating on the words of the conversation, instead of just its flow. "I had my hands in the guy's chest, massaging his heart to keep him alive. It was awesome."

Jill had started turning slightly green, so Ellie changed the subject. Turning to Sarah, Ellie spoke, "Sorry for him. He sometimes forgets that not everyone is used to blood and guts. What exactly do you do? And how did you get into it?"

"Well," Sarah answered, from her dossier, "I just graduated from George Mason University with a degree in economics. This group of investors found my résumé interesting, so they hired me. They send me all over to evaluate opportunities of all kinds. I guess nine years of schooling really does prepare you for something." The nine years comment drew a few chuckles. In the ensuing pause, Sarah made a query. "Now, I have a question. Is it Charles or Chuck? It seems everybody here calls you Chuck." The last comment was addressed at the curly-haired man.

"Well, my closest friends and family have called me Chuck for a long time and still do. Chuck is great for those closest to me – my dearest friends and family. I've been trying …"

"He's been trying to get people to call him by an adult name for some time now, haven't you Charles?" Jill interrupted, looking pointedly around the table. Sarah nodded internally – the message clear. He was Charles to her. Mentally, she cursed herself for asking that question, which she'd been turning over in her mind, instead of the question she should have asked, about the brains behind the company. Jill continued, not noticing or choosing to ignore the expression on her husband's face. "Chuck is such a silly name anyway."

Charles responded in what was obviously a well-rehearsed line. "Well, my parents were sadists…."

Ellie smiled at that. Devon mouthed the word "Awesome." Jill just rolled her eyes. But Bryce looked sympathetically at both Charles and at "Suzanne", feeling the awkwardness of the moment. "Yes, but a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. And he'll always be Chuck to me."

The conversation drifted away, at that point, into discussions of unfortunate names, from Dick Burns to Rusty Kuntz to Morgan Grimes.

* * *

After dinner, Charles was serenaded with a song and told to sit while presents were fetched. Sarah was content to not participate in this portion of the evening, being allowed to simply observe. From their reactions (or more precisely, the lack thereof), all four of her non-date companions were very used to Bryce bringing over quiet dates. It made her cover easier and more believable. She was amazed at how trivial this mission was appearing. Why would the director have sent one of the CIA's best operatives on such a simple assignment? It didn't make sense.

She tried to unravel the mystery during the present opening. Jill gave her husband a gold watch that didn't seem to fit his personality in the least. The thank-you was subdued and no promise of additional unwrapping that night was offered. Ellie and Devon's joint gift of a guitar seemed strange, until she realized it was a wireless game controller. Perhaps the oddest gift was from Bryce, a clock which "instead of ticking, sounds just like Darth Vader breathing – it's one-of-a-kind".

Time was passing and Sarah hadn't accomplished what she'd set out to do. She took matters on herself and stood up. Immediately after standing, she started to sway and stumble, but somehow managing to not fall until Bryce was there to catch her. It took him a few moments to get in position to catch her, but she managed to wobble until he got there.

Bryce enjoyed catching her, she could tell. It meant his goal that night would be easier, plus the physical contact gave him a sneak preview. He didn't know that it also made her similar but critically different goal easier, too. She giggled a bit to drive home the point.

The man with the blue eyes, the iciness now hidden by an alcohol fog, caught the hint in spite of his state. "I believe my date'sss had enough. I should take her home. Do you mind if…?" He let the question hang in the air, even though he was already attempting to lead her to the door.

Long experience and excellent agency instructors had taught Sarah how to appear to be leaning on a man for support, while subtly providing him balance and direction. Her efforts earlier in the evening had obviously been successful, given the indirect line he took for the door. The drive would be dangerous, she decided, but it was short and a necessary risk.

**

* * *

**

Bryce's Loft  
**9:23 p.m.**

Sarah was again helping Bryce over the threshold. Her fears about the drive had been justified, but they'd made it in one piece, which was all that mattered. And she'd finally been able to direct the conversation back to BarLar. For an exec, he sure seemed reluctant to talk about his company.

She continued their conversation. "So, it's obvious that you're the looks and brawn of the operation." She paused to run her hand over his chest with only partially feigned appreciation. "But who's the real brains of it?"

While Bryce was finding an answer through the alcohol in his system, Sarah took in the small flat where Bryce lived. It was pretty small but had very comfortable furniture, a large TV, and virtually screamed "bachelor pad". It had many windows, but the blinds were all drawn already. At least Bryce had the good sense to stick with basic colors, so nothing clashed.

"I am, baby. I am the total package! And all jessst for you." He was lying. It was so apparent.

"Nuh-unh." She had worked long to get his guard down without artificial means. She knew she only had a few minutes before the kisses wouldn't pause enough to let her speak. She used clothing to buy herself a few extra seconds, pretending to fumble with his belt on the walk across to his bed. "There's a reason for being part of a company and not alone. Who is it? Who writes the code?"

He tried to focus on her face, to read her intentions, but she was trailing kisses along his chest, distracting him and hiding herself. She knew that any focusing would be difficult, but she hadn't become the CIA's best agent by taking even the slightest chance. "It's Chuck. He does 90% of the hard stuff. I do a part, occasionally, maybe 8%. Everybody else contributes 5% max."

It was true. She didn't need the pentothal in her purse after all. A lesser agent would have just slipped him something at dinner, she knew. But drugs always left telltales behind, no matter what the manufacturers claimed. She was the best at everything in the agency. Tonight, that meant not doing anything to leave behind even the slightest hint of a trace. The easiest way wasn't always the best. She knew from long experience that men tended to get very honest if they thought that was the best way to get her into bed. The "play nice" ultimatum from Graham had ensured that she would dip into that well once again. And it worked, like it always did. Either man would have been fine for her purposes, but Bryce had proven the easier target. One part of the mission (determine code author) down, one to go.

"How could a gal like me get access to the actual code?" She tried to make the question light and flirty, but it wasn't. She could feel his back stiffen. In her haste, she had pushed too hard. OK, so maybe she wasn't perfect.

"You can't. Our code's all we got. We never give it to anyone." His voice was becoming less distracted. He was probably starting to suspect the night might be more than a mere dalliance to her. It was time to remove that suspicion.

"Nevermind. I think I've got all the hard data I need right here." She caressed him gently and bent her mind to the task of making him forget all about anything else that happened between entering the apartment and the pleasure starting.

**

* * *

**

Bryce's Loft  
**11:42 p.m.**

499…500. He had been breathing rhythmically for a 500 count, as required by company procedures. That meant he was deeply asleep and she could move. Fortunately, he'd fallen asleep without trying to hold onto her, as a few men had. Slipping out of bed was easy. She could have robbed him blind or captured all his secrets without him knowing. It was all too easy.

She slipped back into the slinky number she'd worn to the 'date'. It was all she currently had. Fortunately, she had a change of clothes in the car she'd stashed half-a-block away. The answer about acquiring the code in a forthright manner was not surprising. Fortunately, she'd had a chance to fully scope the business establishment during the day and acquiring the code would be trivial.

On the way out, though, something slowed her purposeful step. At the exit, she paused, one hand still inside the doorframe. Something had caught her interest. Maybe it was the way that Bryce had simply given himself to her, expecting nothing in return. Maybe it was the weirdness of the mission affecting her judgment. Maybe she was just tired of being lonely, though she would have never admitted that, even to herself. Some hint of remorse, for whatever cause, slowed her exit.

It was only a moment, though – something not even another agent would have likely detected. But Sarah noticed. She filed the hesitation away in her personal file of "things to ignore" and continued out the door. She was a CIA agent and she had a mission to complete. The mission came first, always.

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.

**September 26th  
****7:36 a.m.**

Charles entered the building at about his normal time. Even before he got in, though, he could tell something was wrong. Through the glass doors, he could see that Morgan's desk and gaming set-up were missing. Stepping inside confirmed his fears – the entire inside of the building was bare.

He started searching, though it didn't take much looking. Even the doors to the offices that he and Bryce had were missing. The demonstration room, where they'd shown their product to Suzanne only the day before, was one of the last places he looked. That room was not entirely empty. A couch still remained. On the couch was Morgan, fast asleep and snoring. The purple stain under his mouth and game controller still clutched in his hands indicated that he'd been that way for some time. Everything else was gone.

Nervously Charles retreated to his last hope. A storage closet, innocuous in itself, held their back-up server, where everything was routed daily. It had its own power generator, redundant RAID storage, custom locks, the works. It was their safety net and had saved their code enough times (twice – once from a power spike which had fried normal power strips and once from hard drive failures) to make it worth every penny. It was also ridiculously heavy and well-anchored to the floor.

Just as he was about to check the door, to see if it was still locked and his life might still have a semblance of a reasonable future, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He yelped shrilly in fright and spun around, making fake judo moves.

"Relax," Bryce said, "it's just me."

"Why are you here so early?"

"I had a bad feeling. I woke up and Suzanne was gone. I just felt something was off. The only reason any woman could have for leaving me in the middle of the night was if she was just using me to get to something. When I got here and saw this, I remembered that she'd asked if she could get access to our code. I guess I was right – she did want something."

"Qu'vatlh!" Chuck swore in fluent Klingon. "Let's just hope she missed this room."

The door opened with agonizing slowness. Charles and Bryce looked in and then looked at each other in horror. The bottom of the server was still connected to the floor, but it was just a bare metal plate. All of their code was gone – and their last hope for the company with it.

_

* * *

_

As always, reviews are my fuel. Please take a moment and leave one.


	4. An Agent By Any Other Name

_Some people acquire beautiful homes; others prefer cars. I seem to be acquiring helpers on this story. Thanks to sharpasamarble, brickroad, and aardvark7734. As always, any remaining mistakes are definitely mine._

_And, no, I still own no part of the Chuck franchise, nor do I make any money from doing this. I do it for fun._

* * *

**BarLar, Inc.  
9:11 a.m.**

The police had been called. They wouldn't arrive until "later", according to the 911 operator, since the incident was no longer in progress. Charles and Bryce had been politely instructed to stay until they arrived. Everybody else was to be sent home, even Morgan.

Thus, the two of them were in the front of the now-empty building, waiting for the arrival of the police and discussing the mysterious Suzanne Winkelman. "I could have sworn she liked me yesterday, at lunch. She seemed like she was having such a good time. She even stretched and batted her eyes at me."

"You? Why would she flirt with you? I thought she was after me the whole time. I guess she was just looking to play one of us. Maybe she only picked me because your woman-repellant still works." He indicated the ring on Charles's finger, which the latter rubbed again. "Nah, it has to just be my animal magnetism." Charles wondered if the last statement was meant for him or to reassure Bryce himself.

"But why? Why go through the date charade? If she could get in here and steal everything, why would she come over to Ellie's at all?"

"Make sure her accomplices weren't discovered? I don't know. Maybe she just couldn't resist me."

A feminine throat clearing pulled both of them back to the present. Somehow, they had both missed Suzanne entering. Granted, after seeing the lack of a desk through the glass doors, she had entered even more quietly than she normally would have. The two men looked at her, looked at each other, and back at her.

"Can I help you? Or should we wait for the police?" Bryce asked. A smidgeon of doubt as to her guilt had entered Charles's mind and an investor might be just what they needed to get out of this disaster. So we was glad that Bryce wasn't too blatantly accusatory.

"I tried calling," she said, seemingly oblivious to the second question, "but there was no answer. I guess I see why." The two men watched her eyes zip around the room and their faces. It didn't seem nervous, though, more like she was evaluating everything. "Do you have back-ups of your data?"

"We did. But that got snatched, too. Did you do this?" Charles can't help himself from speaking. How could someone boldly steal everything and then walk in the next day? It didn't make any sense to Charles. His world was crumbling around him and this woman that he'd barely met was calmly visiting the scene of her crime and chatting amicably about data back-ups. And, then, it hit him – she was going to extort them for money to get their data back. Not that they had any money, but he shouldn't have given away their weak bargaining position. Bryce did the negotiating for a reason.

"Hmm…I need to make a phone call."

"You're not leaving," Bryce said, stepping between the door and the blonde. Suzanne raised her eyebrows, in a manner that suggested that even together the two of them wouldn't slow her, should she decide to leave.

"Play nice, huh? Fine." The words were barely audible from Suzanne's mouth and muttered enough that the meaning wasn't clear. Aloud, she said, "OK, I'll stay. Mind if I find a place to sit down?"

The two escorted her to the conference room. "This couch is the only thing left." They stood by, obviously intending to listen in on her call. Suzanne sat on the couch, distinctly away from the still-damp purple pool.

"Can I have some privacy?"

"Afraid not. You're our top suspect. We're not leaving. Are we?" Bryce had apparently taken charge. Charles nodded his full support, however.

"Just go across the room, please? I promise I won't leave." Charles shared a glance with Bryce. The acoustics of the room were set up to make presentations easy – they'd probably be able to hear her across the room.

"No funny stuff, OK?" Bryce asked. After she nodded, they retreated a semi-respectful distance and listened intently. Suzanne pulled out her cell phone, unlocked it, and then made a call. Her fingers danced too quickly for either to determine anything about the security features or the number dialed.

"This is Walker. I need to speak to Graham. Priority 2." While she waited, the looks between the two men were tangible – Walker? Who/what did that mean? Wasn't her name Suzanne Winkelman? What had they gotten themselves into?

Listening to half a phone conversation can be trying. "BarLar was completely cleaned out last night." Pause. "Yes." Pause. "Pros, clearly." Another still pair of seconds. "No, not really." Then she spent a long time listening intently. "Is that an order?" The answer clearly did not make her happy. "I believe so." A smile grew before she answered "Not yet, sir, no." Another break and "Two days, yes." A brief silence. "Understood."

She looked up at them and then stood. Offering them the couch, she said, "You need to sit more than I do. This could take a while."

Neither of them took her offer, so she started explaining. "OK, I was here last night, but…" She stopped as the two started for the door. A snarl briefly contorted her features before the door sprouted a pair of knife handles. Her voice acquired a command edge not heard in civilian life. "I tried it nicely. Now get back here, sit down, and shut up."

Charles and Bryce were now completely intimidated and more than a little freaked out. The taller, in particular, looked quite pale. He barely caught himself before sitting in the purple puddle. The other side of the cushion had a larger purple spot, but it was at least dry.

He was the first to sit and speak. His voice came out a few notes higher than normal. "Wh-what? Wh-who are you?" As frightened as he was, though, Charles was secretly hopeful for some explanation. The enigmatic phone call, the calm demeanor, even the knives in the door told him that Suzanne Winkelman, if that was her name, was a lot more than just some angel investor's scout. She obviously knew some of what was happening and didn't appear the least bit frightened by it. That helped him deal with the stomach-roiling turmoil of the morning a little bit better, even though he still felt like breakfast might be making a return trip through his system.

Suzanne made a moue. "Civilians." It was said almost like a curse word. "My real name is Sarah Walker. I am an agent currently working for the CIA." She flashed a badge to confirm her statement.

"Th-the CIA? What … why would the CIA care about us?" His mind raced, but he couldn't make any connection. Was it somehow connected to Jill's strange behavior? That would be nice and might provide light in a situation that was drowning in darkness. But why had they come to his work place? It made no sense.

"Apparently your little computer AI might help resolve some problems they're having with a supercomputer. That phone call you listened in on contained all the information I have. Obviously, it's not enough to fully explain everything." Suzanne, no Sarah, Charles mentally corrected himself, said. And, apparently, they weren't as circumspect as they'd thought.

"There's a problem. It's gone. Wait … I guess you took it all, huh?"

"No. I was here last night, as I said, but I didn't steal anything." The men's faces fell. "I did, however, make my own copies of all the hard drives. You won't have to start completely from scratch."

"Really? You have mm… our code?" Even when completely rattled, Charles went out of his way to acknowledge the efforts of others. He could feel the agent's eyes search his face briefly, looking for an explanation.

"I do. But it comes with conditions. First, you both have to accompany me to Washington, D.C. for a few days to a few weeks to get a full debrief and determine your future. Second, you can't tell anyone I'm with the CIA – this is purely a business investment trip as far as anyone else knows. Third, you will not be allowed to publish your final code, or to even hint at its existence."

"Why should we do that?" Bryce was the born negotiator. Even though he was above his head and knew it, he felt the need to get the best deal possible.

"Look around. Your company is dead in the water now. The people who cleaned you out were professionals – a large organization. We're not the only ones interested in your code. If you come with me, tomorrow, quietly, and without alerting friends and family, you will get my protection and potentially CIA funding. If you don't ...." She paused, shrugged and looked around at the bare walls. "Your choice."

Both men looked at the knives deeply embedded in the wood of the door. It was obvious that, if Sarah Walker wanted them dead, they would be dead. It was equally obvious that she could stop anybody else coming after them, if she was telling the truth. They then looked at the spot where the big-screen TV they'd used for demonstrating their game had hung.

Charles thought about the weeks it had taken them to move everything in to place and the heavy equipment used to place the secure server into position. He also thought about the other safety precautions they'd placed around their code. "If … do you think the people who did this might come back?"

Sarah looked at him sharply. "If they had a reason, I'm sure they would. I'm amazed they left this couch and the bearded troll alive. Leaving a person behind was a sign of their contempt for you – that's all I can figure."

Chuck swallowed. "What about my friends? The rest of the company?"

"They might be in danger, too, yes."

As was their wont, when needing to have a private conversation around someone they didn't want overhearing, the two men conversed in Klingon. "Ghag maH wIv?" Charles asked.

"Ghobe. Hutlh."*

They both turned back to Sarah. "It seems we have no choice. When do we leave?"

**

* * *

**

General Beckman's Office  
**11:40 a.m. (eastern)**

A well-built man with a severe jaw stood at attention in front of the general's desk. The general looked mildly agitated and spoke first. "Major. Thank you for cutting your time off short and arriving promptly."

"You did say it was important, ma'am." He didn't add that he loathed vacation time and preferred working anyway.

"Are you familiar with the Intersect project?" The major's brow furrowed briefly before he shook his head. "After 9/11, the NSA and the CIA were ordered to play nice, share our intel. The Intersect is the computer that houses all of our secrets. It stores all our information as images and then mines for patterns. It all works well, on paper. In practice, the thing is too slow to find correlations and we get reports weeks too late. A business in California, called BarLar Inc., has shown prototypes of a new computer AI for their games. It, too, mines for patterns in image data. Our reports indicate that it may do it faster and better than our existing Intersect hardware and software. The CIA investigated first." The man grunted his disrespect of even the mention of the lesser government organization.

"You can guess how that turned out. Less than 24 hours after a CIA agent, supposedly one of their best, showed up at the scene, the entire company headquarters was cleaned out, including all of their latest code. She did manage to make contact with the lead programmers and obtain a copy of their data. But the intel is also in enemy hands."

Major Casey grunted at the news. The CIA was always botching things up. That wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was that the whole team of programmers hadn't been killed and the code entirely lost. A smidgeon of competence was more than he expected. "Which agent?"

The general's eyes bored into him, but he looked back calmly. Eventually, she opened her briefing papers and scanned them. "Agent Sarah Walker." Casey had worked with her before. It wasn't one of his finest moments, but she was surprisingly competent. He nodded.

The general's dry voice continued. "Your mission is to go and determine who cleaned out the headquarters and investigate the entire programming team. Verify the CIA's assessment of the value of the individuals. Start basic background investigations. Secure the facility against additional attacks."

"Where is this BarLar?"

"Los Angeles. Burbank, to be precise."

"That's perfect. I've been feeling a little pasty."

The major turns to leave, but before he can fully exit, the general's voice stops him. "John? One more thing. Bad news about General Stanfield. I'd like you to investigate the incident while you're in the area."

A quick nod was her only response, before the door swung shut.

**

* * *

**

Los Angeles  
**12:12 p.m.**

"What do you mean, you can't read the hard drives?" Tommy's hissed tone was menacing and the technician shied away. "You have the machines – all of them."

"The drives are encrypted. If they had been left on, we could have pulled the information. Or if we knew the passwords. Now, though, we'll have to brute force all possible passwords. It could take months." The man in the white coat was obviously intimidated by his superior, but he was more afraid of the consequences of lying than of giving bad news.

"And if I'm not willing to wait months?"

The technician swallowed uncomfortably. "Then, you'll need to get us passwords from the users." Tommy glowered at him. "Or even just personality profiles, so we can hone our guessing algorithm."

The ice in Tommy's voice sent shivers down the technician's spine. "Then, I guess we'll have to acquire some passwords."

* * *

* - "Do we have a choice?" "No. No choice."

_

* * *

_

As always, R&R appreciated.


	5. Pitching and Ditching

_You know the drill. I own nothing of Chuck but the DVD. Big shout-out thanks to brickroad and sharpasamarble (especially the latter) for helpful comments. If I listened to them more, the chapter would probably be even better. All mistakes are mine, of course._

**

* * *

Secure Government Building  
****Washington D.C.  
****September 28, 2007  
****9:00 a.m.**

Charles was nervously playing with his sleeves as he, Bryce, and Sarah waited in an otherwise-empty hallway. Sarah had informed the two men that they were meeting with two very powerful people in the security community and that they were to behave themselves. Both BarLar executives were dressed in suits, while Sarah had met them at their hotel room in a plain jumpsuit.

Charles could tell that Bryce was extremely nervous, too. The shorter man was sitting quietly, concentrating on what he was going to say. His friend was normallyquite extroverted and low levels of nervousness only aggravated his boisterous behavior. For him to be calm and concentrated screamed that he was in a unique situation. At least Bryce looked the part of a serious businessman. Even with Bryce's help, his suit didn't look quite natural.

Precisely three and three-eighths eternities after they'd arrived (Charles kept track), the door opened. Charles and Bryce stood expectantly. Sarah remained seated. After an awkward half-step, Charles turned to look at her questioningly. "Go on in," she said.

"Aren't you coming in?" Even though she had lied to him, threatened him, and slept with his best friend, something about her presence comforted Charles. She seemed a rock of calm and security in a world suddenly gone topsy-turvy.

She shook her head. "They have my report."

But at that moment, a man's voice from inside the room called out. "Agent Walker, you need to hear this, too. It will save additional briefings later."

No emotion crossed Sarah's face, but Charles thought he could detect something churning behind her eyes. What emotion it might be – excitement, anger, disappointment, curiosity, or even fear – he couldn't decide. He spared a thought to what would make an agent like her tick, before refocusing on the job at hand.

Ever the gentleman, Charles gestured for Sarah to go first. She flashed him a brief, dazzling smile before following Bryce into the room. Quick on her heels, Charles was not ready for her hesitation on the threshold. He stumbled into from behind. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The apologies left his mouth in a torrent, even though it was at least partially her fault.

"It's OK." The words were almost a hiss. Maybe she really was angry.

Thoughts of Sarah fled his mind as Charles looked around the sparsely-furnished office he had just entered. A single chair sat behind a desk, on which rested a computer and nothing else. No other chairs stood in the room. Behind the desk sat a horse-faced woman with reddish hair. Standing behind her was a dark-skinned man. Both had startling piercing eyes that seemed to penetrate him to his very soul. Attempting to hold either of their eyes was useless. At least now he knew how Boromir felt in Lothlorien. It was distinctly uncomfortable.

The terse order came from the seated woman. "Explain what your code does, in layman's terms." Apparently, that served as an introduction.

As Bryce launched into his demonstration, Charles's mind wandered across many topics: what he would say, his sister, his home situation, and his friends at BarLar. Only one of those topics was painful enough that even momentarily mental explanation was painful. He hurriedly dismissed that thought.

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.  
**10:31 a.m.**

Casey was disappointed, but not surprised, to find out that no reports had hit his desk by the 10:30 deadline he'd imposed that morning. Initial impressions weren't always accurate, but he would have bet money that no one in the entire operation he had "inherited" was competent. It was an easy enough task – catalog all the missing items from each personal cubicle space.

He stood up from his chair to go berate them into behaving. He had never actually been a drill sergeant, but that was only because drill sergeants feared him. Putting the fear of God, or of Casey, into some civilians was just what he needed to cheer him up.

The sight beyond the doorway stopped him dead in his tracks. A planned bellow of "What the hell is taking so long?" become more of a whispered "What the hell?" as the sight of a grown man trying desperately to stuff Twinkies into his mouth appeared. Wrappers lay everywhere and the man's eyes bulged in pain as he tried to swallow. The small bearded excuse-for-a-man was holding a stopwatch. The other quote-employees-unquote were gathered around watching.

At about the same moment that the bearded troll called "Time!", the Twinkie-eater began vomiting violently. Casey was combat-trained and instinctively dove back into the office, while his unwilling eyes tracked the expulsion from mouth and nose coating an impressive portion of the thin carpet covering the floor.

Quickly gathering his wits, Casey sat back down. He picked up the overview folder again and started reading more carefully. The portion of his mind not dedicated to learning all about his new charges was trying to determine whom, exactly, he had pissed off to get this particular assignment.

**

* * *

**

Secure Government Building  
**Washington D.C.  
****10:35 a.m.**

Bryce had just completed his description of everything BarLar, Inc. had ever done. Interruptions were few and pointed. Finally, the black man spoke. "We'd like to see this AI in action." He gestured to the computer set-up.

Charles knew it was his turn. He walked up to the computer. "Uhhh…the files that Sarah sto… acquired? I'll need those."

"The hard drive contacts an exact image of your machine, Mr. Bartowski." The woman's voice sounded like sandpaper that had been stored in dry ice.

While the computer booted, Charles stretched out his arms and his fingers. He had not been offered a seat, so he was going to have to work standing. He tried to remember exactly where he'd left his code the last time he'd worked on it, almost a full week ago. And not just any week, but a week of upheaval with periods of fear mixed in. None of it helped calm his nerves.

Once the prompt came up to enter the passphrase to unlock the information lying dormant on the magnetic medium, though, he paused, his fingers poised over the keys. "…" He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, not able to find the words.

Bryce could, though. "Why should he unlock our code for you under these circumstances? How about we negotiate some payment, NDAs, and ground rules first? I think a few million in funding up front is pretty reasonable, given that you probably couldn't read our disks without us."

The general, by her uniform, spoke first. "Do you honestly believe this is a negotiation, Mr. Larkin?"

Bryce froze momentarily – of course it was a negotiation, his posture stated. Everything was a negotiation. He smiled, a bit nervously but gamely back. "Well, darling, I suppose you think you're in charge, but in my business, everything is negotiable. What offer can you make us?"

No amusement or interest flickered in her eyes – not even the barest hint of appreciation at his effort. "Here's my first offer -- we arrest you and your friend for obstruction of justice. You rot in jail until you decide to give us what we need." She paused a moment for thought and shrugged very slightly while examining her fingernails. "Involving family or torture has lost its appeal."

"Or we could just proceed on friendly terms and see where that leads us," the man behind the desk concluded.

"Uhh…go ahead and show them the code, Chuck." Charles wasn't sure he'd ever seen Bryce so pale before and it frightened him. His eyes sought comfort; they found it in Sarah's calm blue eyes and slight nod.

Charles's fingers danced across the keyboard, entering his passphrase. He figured his keystrokes were being recorded, so he didn't even try to hide what he was typing. After his password was entered, the system decrypted the dormant code and sprang to life.

The next few hours of Charles's life were some of the most intimidating and scarring he'd ever had – up until that point. The inquisition was brutal and relentless. A few moments stood out to him.

He was showing samples of the type of images he examined. "We take the image and parse it into its various sections –." The thought was not allowed to finish.

"What file formats do you use for images?"

"Well, right now, everything is purely uncompressed raw still from a true high-def video feed."

"How long would it take to modify for a custom format?"

Charles did some quick calculations in his head. "Well … I'd probably just convert that format to the stills I'm examining now. If it's been lossy-compressed, I know I suffer some performance downgrade. If it's a known format, probably a week or two. For a … uhh … custom format, it could take a couple months." He tried to read the expressions on the faces of the two senior agents, but they were completely impenetrable.

An indeterminate amount of time later, which was probably minutes but felt like hours, the issue of speed was raised. "How long does it take to find these correlations?"

"It depends on the search size, sir." Charles didn't normally call people sir, but the current situation was about as far from normal as he ever expected to get. "And the computer speed, of course. A typical desktop will take under a second to search a few hundred files. I've used an algorithm which is actually superexponential in the number of images because it works better at smaller sizes. I know there's one which works better for larger search sizes, but I've not implemented it, because we never have to expect to deal with tens of thousands." He was amazed they'd let him finish for two reasons. First, it seemed a boring topic probably over their technical heads. And second, because they never let him finish any thoughts.

"And if we have millions of images?" asked the General.

"Millions?" Charles strangled out. "Then you'd probably need … gosh, I don't know, a supercomputer with custom hardware or something. And it'd still take minutes or hours, probably."

He had no way of knowing that they already had multiple custom supercomputers working in parallel and sequentially. They still took days to process any individual in-coming image. If his wild claim was close to accurate, it would be an incredible improvement. All he heard was "Interesting."

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.  
**11:43 a.m.**

Jeff looked at Lester. They both glared at the door behind which their interim manager sat. He was clearly not one of them – not a nerd on any level. They resented him for his physical conditioning, his good looks, and his lack of computer knowledge. But mostly they resented him because of his work ethic.

"He's been in that room all morning. What do you think he's doing?" Lester asked, in an almost-awed voice.

"I don't know. No computer, no beer, nothing but those files and our reports. He … he must be working on things." Jeff was appalled.

"All morning? That's crazy."

"You know what's crazy, these new watches he gave us. Analog watches? Who uses those anymore?" Jeff was gesturing. He then imitated Casey's low growl fairly well. "'You can see your life ticking away that way' he said. What the hell does that mean?"

"That means trouble, my friend. Once he gets his claws in us, he'll expect us to work all day. Maybe even overtime. Hell, he might have even put tracers in our watches so he can keep track of us without our knowing." Amazingly, Lester's paranoia had finally hit on a correct note, though neither had any way of knowing it.

"Yeah," Jeff sneered. "Let's leave 'em here when we ditch for lunch. That way he can't track us."

The two were so excited about their coup in escaping their overbearing manager, they didn't notice the ominous van following them. Neither was in any condition to slow their capture an hour later, either, so the few witnesses to that event were not even sure what happened. And with their watches indicating they were in the office, it was many hours before Casey noticed they were missing.

**

* * *

**

Washington D.C. Hotel  
**10:53 p.m.**

Charles really wanted to decompress from his day, but he had been ordered not to leave the hotel, which limited his options. Bryce was similarly incarcerated but had chosen to drown his sentence in the bar. What Charles really need was Jill -- the Jill he had married.

He called his home and was disappointed to hear the answering machine. Jill's cell phone just rang and rang and went to voicemail, too. Eventually, Charles called back home and left a message on the machine. "Call me as soon as you get this. Even if it's the middle of the night."

Slumping back on the bed, he stared at the ceiling and tried to make sense of the day, unsuccessfully. A few blocks away, a certain blonde CIA agent was doing exactly the same thing.

_As always, I need R&R. And, in a first for this story, I don't even have the next chapter in progress as I'm publishing this one, so I need the support._


	6. Baby Steps

_The value of good beta readers can't be overestimated. I owe a huge thank-you to sharpasamarble and brickroad for their continued efforts at helping me keep this story understandable, polished, and in-character. Thanks you two!_

**

* * *

Interrogation Chamber  
****Los Angeles  
11:11 p.m.**

"They've been in there long enough to sober up a bit. They might understand their situation, too. Bring 'em out." Tommy was not a patient man by nature. Only the physician's assurance that the blood-alcohol levels he'd detected weren't necessarily fatal but were certainly debilitating had kept him from starting earlier.

The two men who entered could not have been more different. One was reasonably tall, with light skin and light hair which looked like it hadn't been washed, let alone combed, since the 70s. The other was shorter and darker all around. His hair was barely mussed by the none-too-gentle imprisonment, indicating the use of large amounts of gel. His fingernails were immaculately manicured, providing another view into his personality.

"Sit down," Tommy purred. The room was reasonably dim, but he could see both squinting after their time in the dark. Tommy made sure he was no more than an outline to them.

The darker man was the first to speak, after licking his lips nervously. His head swiveled as he searched through his squint for an explanation. "What's going on here?"

"Tut-tut-tut. I'm doing the asking here. You're doing the answering." Both men in front of him swallowed anxiously. "I'll start with an easy one. What company do you work for?"

"I ain't a squealer, alright? It's the one thing my mom taught me from the joint." The older man spoke first. His words were brave, but the quiver in his voice gave him away. He'd crack quickly.

Tommy turned on the light briefly, not even directly into their faces. They squinted and blinked at the sudden sensation, pain evident on their faces. "Now, I'll ask again, and let's answer before things get worse," he purred. "Where do you work?"

The Indian was the first to reply. "BarLar, OK? Now can you turn that light off?"

"Good, good. Now that wasn't so hard. If you can continue to be so cooperative, things don't have to get nasty." He was careful to keep his voice neutral and calm until the last word. It wasn't that he expected to let his truly malevolent side show later, but he wanted to leave the option open and the thought in their minds.

After turning off the light, he was completely invisible to their eyes, though he could still see them. Shutting one eye during brief light displays was an old trick but still effective. His voice assumed a more jocular tone. "So, what are your names?"

His subjects exchanged a worried glance. "I'm John," the pale one said, apparently trying to live up to his promise to not be a squealer.

"Wrong answer." Tommy lashed out quickly from an unexpected direction. He was behind them now and a quick jab to the ears would leave no mark but remind them who was in charge. "Next time, I'll cut one off. Now, I'll ask again. What are your names?" The joviality was gone.

"Jeff." "Lester." The two responses tripped over themselves in their haste to placate his demand. Tommy allowed himself a small smile. They were his now, for as long as he needed.

"What do you do at BarLar?"

The one called Lester answered first again – he was definitely the quicker of the two. "I program the physics engine for the bullets and thrown knives. I'm kind of a weapon's expert."

"And I do user testing – make sure everything is idiot-proof before we ship it out or let people demo it." Inwardly, Tommy smiled – who better than an idiot to test.

"So you have access to the system." It wasn't a question but they nodded eagerly anyway. "Usernames and passwords."

"I don't want him to know" Lester said, shooting a dirty look at Jeff. "He'll log in as me and download dirty pictures, getting me in trouble again."

"That was Morgan, you back-stabbing little…" The two looked like they might do Tommy's job for him, but he wanted more information first. He had to intervene.

"When will you learn your wants don't matter anymore?" Tommy flicked the light back on to blind them again. It also served as a reminder to them who was in charge. The aftereffects of alcohol were good at causing pain and left no suspicious traces – at least, not in these two.

"Jeff. I love beer. That is, 'IluvB33R!'" Jeff spelled out his password carefully.

"Lester. Les is weapon's God. 'Les_is_weapons_G0d'."

"Check those!" Tommy barked to the listening technicians. Turning back to the frightened pair in front of him, he continued. "Now, how about everybody else's?"

Tommy was not happy. Confirming the accuracy of the provided passwords was quick and painless, but it brought the news that their accounts did not have access to any actual source code. This made them virtually worthless. On top of that, the two could provide no more passwords. They were obviously neither brave nor smart enough to lie convincingly. Plus, no sane person would entrust secrets to them. This was a dead-end.

They didn't even have useful information on the men who had the information he needed – Bryce Larkin and Charles Bartowski. All they'd been able to provide was some vague story about going to Baltimore with an investor – some blonde woman. The two had claimed she was hot, but he expected them to say that about any female with fewer than five eyes. It was likely enough that they needed funding after being cleaned out, but something felt fishy to Tommy. An agent knew when to trust his gut; this was such a time.

Still, he hadn't risen to his current position by leaving much to chance. "Is there anything else you can tell me?" he asked for the third and final time.

"I'm not holding out on you. I just don't know anything!" Lester simpered pitifully.

"OK, I believe you." He turned to the other men hidden in the shadows, who had been quietly watching the ordeal. "Take them out and kill them. Make it look like an accident."

"Wait!" Jeff yelled. "Morgan!"

"Yes," Lester echoed, "Morgan. Chuck tells him everything."

"Right," Jeff added admiringly. "His beard holds so many secrets."

"Thank you," Tommy said, almost sincerely. "Anything else?" They shook their heads morosely, so he gestured to his henchmen to continue executing his previous orders. Jeff and Lester stumbled between their captors, downcast.

Suddenly, Jeff brightened. "Can I have a last request? Like … beer?" Beer had already been arranged and played a reasonably important role in their up-coming accident. Taking candy from babies would have been more challenging than this.

Once the four men were gone, Tommy was alone with his thoughts. The words "too easy", "Baltimore" and "Morgan" swam around his head. The BarLar employees might be nothing, but their executives were a different story, as evidenced by the difficulty his technicians were having cracking their files. This Morgan character might have the answer but it seemed unlikely. The executives might be meeting a regular investor and they might not. Picking up Morgan was a priority, but it was time to expand his net. He opened his phone and dialed a friend in Washington, D.C. "I need a favor. Can you locate a package for me?"

**

* * *

Hotel Corridor****  
Washington D.C.  
7:52 a.m.**

Sarah hesitated before knocking on the door. She had promised to arrive at 8:00 to take the two executives to their morning activity. The agency had instilled a strict sense of exact punctuality into her core, so arriving early like this made her uncomfortable. The need to explain things overrode those concerns. Setting her face, she knocked.

The whole mission didn't make sense. It was just computer software. Seeing the two directors together in a room, given the general animosity between the two organizations, had driven home the importance of the mission. Given the time-frame being discussed and the disappearance of equipment, she figured she might be on this assignment for some time. So she took the director's advice to heart and was trying to be nice.

Some small part of Sarah's consciousness cried against this rationalization, arguing that it was more – if not something else entirely. That voice was very faint, however, and easily ignored. It went into the same box as did many of her other observations about herself – potentially interesting but not to be examined except in direst emergency.

Charles answered rather promptly. "Bryce, you're ear…" died on his lips when he saw her.

She had planned to be professional, look him in the eyes, and do what needed to be done. This wasn't something she normally did – no, it wasn't something she ever really did. Best to get it over with quickly was her thought. But that plan, like so many, didn't survive contact with another person. A look into his eyes and her shell of professionalism cracked. She couldn't hold his gaze – which was a complete first for her, as normally it was men who couldn't bear her eyes.

She still had to what she came to do, though. Looking away from his eyes returned her voice to her complete control. "Charles, I need to talk to you about what happened when we went into the office yesterday."

"Oh, shoot. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I embarrassed you in front of your boss. I didn't mean to." The words tumbled quickly out of his mouth, almost on top of each other. His crestfallen face matched the sincerity of his words. Unfortunately, it wasn't what she had in mind.

"Charles, no, wait."

But he was lost. "You must hate me. It's bad enough when I make a fool of myself, but I had to go and mess up your futu-"

"Stop!" She grabbed his hands to emphasize her point. "Let me talk for a moment." She looked into his eyes, questing for understanding. This time, she could look into them safely. Only after she was satisfied that he would be quiet, which took many slow seconds, did she continue. "I came to apologize to you for not moving quickly enough. I was taken off-guard by who was in the room. I should not have let that happen." She couldn't hold his eyes during the apology. It was an unfamiliar and uncomfortable position for her.

"Listen, Sarah, it's OK. I just … well, I feel bad for you."

Sarah was distinctly not used to dealing with people who were looking out for her emotional well-being. It made the whole conversation feel even more off-kilter. She tried again, squeezing his hands for emphasis. "Charles, listen to me. It. Was. Not. Your. Fault."

"OK… I believe you. But who were those people?" Unvoiced but apparent was the additional question about why she had hesitated on the threshold.

Sarah weighed the dangers of the truth against the habit of lying in a blink. Both were public figures whose names and images could be found in a simple search. She spoke loudly enough that Bryce, who was coming down the hall, could hear, too. "I'm surprised you don't recognize the director of the NSA and the head of the CIA."

"The head and director…" Charles seemed to sway a little. "They… Why would they…."

"I don't know."

"I don't know either." Bryce's voice brought Charles's head back up. Maybe he hadn't noticed him coming. What she hadn't noticed was the focus of Bryce's flat stare. Her hands were still holding Charles's.

They both let go instantly and dropped their hands to their sides. Charles's face reddened a little, but Sarah didn't let hers do the same.

Bryce sidled up to Charles. "Making moves on my girl, are you?" The tone was mostly joking, but it seemed forced to her. Equally forced was Charles's return grin.

**

* * *

NSA Holding Cell  
Near Los Angeles  
8:45 a.m.**

Casey was tired. He'd been up for over 30 hours, but that wasn't the main reason he was tired. Spending the night tracking down weak signals from the dying microbots he'd stashed in the donuts was never fun, either, but that wasn't it. Even the fight with the two men who were in another holding cell wasn't this draining.

No, what had Casey tired were the two BarLar morons sitting in the cell. When he'd found them, they had been completely, ridiculously drunk, being shoved into an automobile (presumably one of theirs), just a short roll from the Santa Monica Bay. While he was disabling the sober men, these two idiots had actually tried to start the car and drive off! He'd had to shoot a tire to stop the fools from hurting themselves or others. In retrospect, though, that might have been the highlight of the night.

Plus, now, they were too incapacitated to tell him what had happened. He growled menacingly, impatient against the time it would take for them to return to functionality. But somebody had nabbed them and kept them alive for a while. That was the final proof he needed to conclude that the break-in was not simply a robbery. The group behind it certainly was looking for something. It was something they hadn't had 24 hours ago. He wished he knew whether they had it now. Regardless, he had a preliminary report to make and an office building to secure.

**

* * *

Secure Government Building  
1:10 p.m.**

Charles hated waiting and today had consisted of almost nothing but waiting. The morning was consumed in an endless series of rhetorical psychological questions, presented as multiple choice. Entering five hundred answers had only occupied a third of the three hours designated for that task. So he'd sat in the room, unable even to dabble ideas with pencil and paper. After that was over, he'd had to wait for Sarah to lead them to a secure area for lunch, which wasn't there when they'd arrived. Now, he'd been forced to sit outside this door for ten minutes, waiting again. His skin had long ago stopped crawling at the delays and was now in full-fledged sprint mode. Climbing out of his skin had never seemed so appealing.

Fluorescent lights had rarely bothered him before. The flicker of the lights often served as a rhythm for his mind – the faster the light flashed, the faster his mind moved. However, now, with no valid connections to make, the light's affects were irritating. They simply amplified the speed of the endlessly revolving circle of questions, constricting them tighter and tighter into a noose. He let those morbid thoughts surround himself for a moment before focusing on how his companions were handling themselves.

Bryce appeared to have the ability to appear relaxed and comfortable in any situation. Right now, he was somehow lounging contentedly in the high-backed chairs that sat in the hallway. His eyes were half-closed and he appeared to be mentally a million miles away. A half-grin showed on his face.

Sarah, on the other hand, sat nearly at attention. Her eyes were constantly roving the hallway. When the one other person he'd seen that day had passed them in the hallway, she had watched his every motion, with one hand straying behind her back, almost certainly to a weapon of some sort. But nothing had happened. Her wary watchfulness contrasted with Bryce's repose, but both seemed calm and content, neither of which applied to him.

The possible reasons for the latest delay spun through his head. The meeting was scheduled for 1:00. Sarah said punctuality was important. So what was it? Possibilities whirred through his head, accelerated by the flickering lights overhead. They didn't believe his code measured up. Something in his psychological profile had triggered an alert and they were going to send him away, with instructions to simply bury all his work. Or were they just arranging some secure location where he would rot away his days never seeing Morgan or Ellie or even Jill again? No option seemed particularly good.

Nevertheless, when the door started to open, he was the first one up, eager to meet whatever was going to happen. Anything was better than waiting. He was almost to the door when he remembered Sarah. Slowing, he gestured for her to go first.

She smiled at the invitation but shook her head. "This time, I'm going last."

Inside, the NSA director and CIA head waited for them. Charles had been nervous the day before, when he didn't know who they were. Knowledge of their importance and power exacerbated the situation. It was all he could do to not start babbling as soon as he entered the room.

The office was the same as it was yesterday. The one chair in the room was occupied by who he now knew to be General Diane Beckman, director of the NSA. CIA head Graham stood behind her. Now, though, a trio of manila folders sat on the desk, separated with military precision.

Graham spoke first. "Thank you for taking our psychological battery of tests. It's standard procedure for all contractors. We see no reason, at this point, to require a polygraph investigation." Charles knew Bryce well enough to detect the straightening of posture and increased attentiveness at the word 'contractors'.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one. The NSA head spoke next. "Yes, Mr. Larkin, you will be contracted with us. This is not an ordinary contract, however, and you will be under near-constant supervision. Agent Casey is already on site to help supervise the operation."

"Excuse me, ma'am," Sarah chimed in, unexpectedly. "Agent John Casey?"

"Yes. Is that a problem?" Her look indicated that only one answer was acceptable.

Sarah gave that answer. "No. Not a problem."

"Good. In your folder, you will find further specifications. We briefed Agent Walker more fully this morning, but a few things have changed since then." She shifted her attention to Bryce. "Mr. Larkin, you seem to fancy yourself a lady's man." Startled, Bryce started to nod but was cut off. "We need Agent Walker close to the situation, so, as of now, she is your girlfriend -"

"Wait," Charles interrupted. "Why is that necessary? Why do we need to be under supervision? What's going on here?"

Beckman replied first. "We received word from Agent Casey that two of your employees were abducted last night. We believe a rival organization is after the same code we are. While putting you into a secure bunker would be more practical…" she trailed off.

The CIA man continued the thought. "You have done nothing wrong, so it would be inappropriate to separate you from your current lives. Agent supervision was deemed sufficient, at this time."

"Right," the general said, taking back the narrative, and focusing on Bryce. "That is why you will treat Agent Walker like your girlfriend – your only girlfriend. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal." Only his long experience with Bryce allowed Charles to realize the challenge in that response. It was only a matter of time before his friend fought that restriction. Stealing a glance at Sarah, Charles couldn't think of a good reason why he should, though.

Graham continued the explanation "Good. Fundamentally, we're just looking to have you continue your image-matching AI work. We want a more concrete demonstration of its potential. We have provided ten images. One face is common across those images – we want you to find that face. All the details are in your folders." He indicated that they should take them.

Charles opened his folder and started flipping through it. It held a CD, a plastic binder labeled "Fractal Storage of Image Data" and 10 pictures. He thumbed through the pictures quickly – a sunflower, a bulletin board, a couple rendered in only black-and-white, a cocker spaniel playing Frisbee, an apple pie, Queen Elizabeth, water lilies, a non-descript building, a device attached to fingers on a hand, and sunset over Africa. Something about the last picture caught his eye – there was a nearly-invisible flaw in one of the animals. He was leaning for a closer look, when Bryce's voice interrupted. "Faces in these pictures? What do you mean?"

"The technical specifications will make that clear, Mr. Larkin." She was the ice queen again and obviously did not like being questioned. "Any further questions or issues?"

Charles returned to the Africa picture that had initially bothered him. Squinting, he examined it more closely and then, without his flipping through them again physically, all ten images flashed in front of his eyes. "Yes," he said slowly, "why do you have ten pictures of me?"

* * *

_As always, R&R greatly appreciated._


	7. Protectors in Action

_Standard disclaimers about my lack of ownership of anything. And huge thank-yous to my beta team of sharpasamarble and brickroad7. They help make the story better. Any remaining mistakes are solely the fault of the author, not the beta team._

_Sorry for the delay. Life got busy. Writing got blocked by my lack of ability to form coherent thoughts. Then ff started acting up. I hope to be back onto a more frequent posting schedule again now, but I can't make guarantees._

**

* * *

Secure Government Building  
1:17 p.m.**

Stunned silence met Charles's pronouncement. The two agency heads turned to gawk at each other. Bryce buried his head in the pictures again with a look of puzzlement, while Sarah turned her quizzical gaze towards Charles.

The general found her voice first. "Mr. Bartowski, can you tell me how you came to the conclusion that the pictures contain your face?" The words came slowly, as if the act of speaking were a foreign concept.

"I… Well, no. I mean, it's right, though, isn't it? The thing that tipped me off was the flaw in the zebra on the Africa landscape. That triggered … something and I just realized my face was in every picture."

"Did someone tell you?" Beckman appeared more angry than curious. "Who was it? How did they know?"

"Ma'am," Sarah's calm voice interjected, "there has been no contact with either of the assets all day. They have been in nearly complete isolation, as per your instructions."

"Nearly complete?"

"Yes, sir. An individual unknown to me passed through the hall outside while we were waiting. I saw no indication of covert information being exchanged, however."

The CIA man found his voice next. Sometime during its absence, that voice had acquired an edge. "Did someone tell you about these pictures?"

Charles was dumbfounded by the overall reaction. He knew the faces in the pictures weren't obvious, but once he had detected the anomaly, it hadn't been too hard to figure out. They'd almost made it easy. Why would they be mad at him? Wasn't it what they'd asked him to do? After his faux pas entering the room yesterday, he couldn't afford a second angering of the brass. "No, I saw … I found it myself. I've never seen these pictures before. And … and no one told me who was in the pictures."

"I'm confused," Bryce's tone contained a large portion of puzzlement with sprinkles of amazement, jealousy and anger. "You're saying there are faces in these pictures? Is this like a magic-eye puzzle?" He was holding the picture of the apple pie near his face, squinting at it.

"We were told," the general's dry voice replied, "that they were invisible at most resolutions. Can you explain how you discovered your picture, Mr. Bartowski?"

"Umm…well, sorta. I mean, if you look at the zebra, right here, behind the shoulders, there's something wrong. It's not quite right and … I don't know, I guess I realized that something was happening below the surface and then I realized there was something similar in each picture. It's my face." Charles wanted to be able to explain better, but he couldn't.

"Remarkable." Director Graham sounded impressed.

"Indeed," added Beckman, "but we need you to teach a computer to do it. Do you still believe you can do that?"

Charles found it difficult to hold anybody's eyes in the room. Thus, his answer was addressed between Beckman and Graham. "Yes, I do."

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
3:52 p.m.**

Today had been an almost perfect day in Morgan's estimation. The lack of computers and a real manager had given him the freedom to do nothing – not even enough to appear to be working. Granted, he had the art of doing basically nothing while appearing to be doing something nearly perfected. But Chuck knew him so well that sometimes it wasn't enough. Today, though, it had been pure heaven: getting paid to do nothing. Life was good.

He'd arrived slightly over six hours ago, with only an hour lunch, so it was time to go home. With the big-screen TV and the video game consoles gone from the office, he saw no reason to stay late. However, just before he reached the door, a heavy hand on his shoulder stopped him. In fact, it threatened to collapse him like an accordion.

Turning, he saw John Casey, the interim manager who had started just that day. Morgan had always prided himself on sensing exactly where his boss was. Apparently, that hadn't worked today. Forcing a smile, he asked. "Is there a problem, boss?"

"No problem, friend. I just thought we could hang out together tonight. Get to know each other."

"Dude, that's a great idea. I've been dying to try being a medic in Team Fortress 2. We gotta play that tonight." Morgan was tremendously excited. With Chuck out of town, he'd been forced to play solo the last couple nights, which was fun but not as cool. Plus, he might actually be better than the new guy. Since he normally played with Chuck, that wasn't something he got to experience often. It wasn't quite the same pwning n00bs online without someone to crow to.

"OK. Whatever. Can you drive?"

"Drive? Man, I can't afford a car. I've got my bike, but I don't think you'd fit on the handlebars." Morgan chuckled inwardly at the image.

The large man growled back at him. "Fine. I'll drive."

"Cool. Where we goin'?"

Casey rolled his eyes. "Wherever you normally go. I can't imagine you have a girlfriend, so it's probably gonna have to be whatever hovel you call home – your place."

"That'd be my mom's place, dude. But that's OK. She's cool. We can hang out in the back room and play games. It'll be great. C'mon, let's go." Morgan pulled Casey from the corporate headquarters.

**

* * *

China House Restaurant  
White Oak, MD  
7:21 p.m.**

Charles had become somewhat accustomed to being a third wheel. It was never fun, but he'd been to his sister's for enough family dinners without Jill that he knew the routine. He would sit quietly and watch the flirting while hiding his discomfort by mentally going over algorithms. He'd been able to sneak a brief skim of the fractal encoding paper before supper. Even that incomplete information was sufficient to keep his wheels turning all through dinner.

He certainly looked the part of a third wheel. Sarah was immaculately put together in a curve-hugging emerald dress that managed to be both sophisticated and casual. Her hair was held up by two chopsticks and was immaculately coifed. Similarly, Bryce had his hair slicked back perfectly, with a few strands out of place – just enough to convince women to push it back over his ear, he had told Charles before. The well-tailored shirt showed his broad shoulder and narrow waist to good effect. In contrast, Charles felt out of place in his not-quite-ironed white collared shirt and his hair showing the failure of his efforts to tame it.

Fortunately for him, reality had plans for him that were different from his dismal forecast. The meal had begun with appetizers, shared equally by all. Sarah spent that portion of the meal with a list of questions for them both, ranging from current daily habits to childhood pets to the current security mechanisms they had in place at BarLar.

The arrival of the sweet-and-sour chicken and Peking duck heralded the onset of the meat of the conversation. Sarah spoke to Bryce first. "For the duration of this mission, you will be my cover boyfriend. That gives me an excuse to be around frequently. In public, we can be affectionate, but it doesn't extend to private situations. Charles here doesn't count as public, nor will Agent Casey, who is already on scene."

"Who is this Casey guy anyway? You seemed to recognize his name." Charles asked.

"Nice catch. He's a cold-school killer. Was a great agent but let himself get too into the kill. Stay out of his crosshairs and you'll be fine."

"And…" Charles swallowed. "How do I do that exactly?"

Sarah smiled at him. "You'll be fine." She turned to Bryce. "You, on the other hand, need to watch the cockiness. He'll be tempted to beat it out of you."

Bryce sat up straighter. "I can take care of myself." Sarah's resulting smirk of laughter was well hidden behind a forkful of noodles, but Charles was certain he saw it. It was guiltily gratifying to see Bryce as the butt of someone's joke, instead of himself. He didn't quite see the humor, but it felt a bit good nonetheless, at least for a moment.

After Sarah finished her bite, she replied. "Yes, well, you should leave that to us. You work on the computer problems. We'll handle the protection detail. With any luck, we'll be out of your hair in a week."

"That sounds like bad luck to me." Bryce smiled winningly and reached for her hand. He started less than six inches away; he ended over a foot away.

"There's no need for that here. We're not undercover now." Sarah's eyes bored into Bryce.

He looked back, unflinchingly. "We weren't undercover a couple nights ago."

"No, that was a different part of my job. A less enjoyable aspect."

Charles cleared his throat into the uncomfortable silence that followed. "What is Casey's cover?"

Sarah flashed a brief grateful smile at him. "He is a security expert you hired to be third in command while you two are away. That will give him full access to you during work hours."

"Is that what's been going on back home while we've been here?" Charles asked about his employees for the umpteenth time, actually expecting an answer this time.

"Yes. Casey told them he'd been selected by you to oversee things during your absence. Since we're actually going back, we'll all be working together." The surprise in her voice about returning to LA was not lost on the two men. Charles wondered what the other possibility was, but he wasn't happy with the answers he imagined.

Not too much later, they were preparing to leave. Sarah had one last piece of advice. "I cannot stress enough how important it is to trust me with your protection. This is not a game."

Bryce rolled his eyes. "I'll be fine, really." Thus, it was a comfort to Charles that Bryce was grabbed first, moments later, by one of the three very large men who materialized near the exit to the restaurant. Bryce had walked ahead, probably to open the door and was quickly nabbed by what looked to be a professional football player.

Charles's enjoyment was short-lived, however, as he felt large, powerful hands grabbing his shoulders from behind and propelling him towards the parking lot. "Don't make a sound," was growled into his ear. Two steps ahead, Sarah was also grabbed none-too-gently. The two 'couples' in front held the two sets of doors while Charles was helplessly directed into the open air.

**

* * *

Mama Grimes' Back Room  
Los Angeles  
7:53 p.m.**

Casey had been tortured before, the worst coming at the hands of Bath separatists. That had been child's play to resist. At this point, however, he would have gladly spilled every secret he knew simply to get the bearded cretin he was protecting to shut up. The droning went on and on, interminably.

"How can you not know what kind of sandwich you'd want on a desert island? That's, like, the most important question a person can ask themselves. It's like you're a galactic hitchhiker and you don't know where your towel is. Or, like you're a Jedi knight without a light saber or knowledge of the force. And don't give me some line about hokey religions. This is important, man!"

The words rolled on and over and into Casey. Abandoning his effort to see anything out of the grimy windows, he turned to face his tormentor. "Fine. I'd take a good old American hamburger, alright? Now, can you just shut up for a bit?"

"Sure, sure. But let me teach you a bit more about Team Fortress. I'm gonna be a medic, which means I heal…"

Casey began his response with a condescending grunt and ended it with a perfunctory "You don't say."

"Yeah, anyway, so you should be a Heavy Weapons Guy, because they're already so tough, not unlike you…"

"Just give me the controller."

Casey hated being in this situation, but his orders were clear. After he'd discovered that the two morons still being detained had given their kidnappers Morgan's name, he was duty-bound to protect the little freak. Without time to set up proper surveillance, he'd been forced to try to befriend him. His many skills and training sessions had never prepared him for herding nerds. The lack had never occurred to him before; seeing what it involved made him grateful for the deficiency.

Now, he was just wishing someone would try something – anything. A good gunfight or some fist-work would bring the evening all the way up to semi-tolerable. Odds of that didn't look good, however.

**

* * *

China House Restaurant Parking Lot  
White Oak, MD  
7:56 p.m.**

Charles's heart was in his throat as he walked in the direction he was prodded. A large van ahead was fairly obviously their destination. He was in front, with Bryce and Sarah behind, each accompanied by a man about his height but significantly wider than he'd ever been.

Not six steps after they'd entered the parking lot, he heard grunts of pain behind him. The man who was holding him loosened his grip slightly and Charles tried to pull away. The grip retightened for an instant before the man fell in a heap at Charles's feet. Turning, he saw Sarah standing on high alert, her hair cascading around her shoulders, with four men spread on the ground at her feet. The only one moving was Bryce.

"Wha … what happened?" he groaned.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, looking intently at Bryce. After he shook his head, she leaned down and efficiently checked his pupils. Seemingly satisfied, she pulled out her phone and quickly depressed a series of digits.

Charles went down to his friend's side. "Are you OK? What happened?"

Bryce was moaning softly, wincing, and a trickle of blood was seeping from one nostril. Charles thought he looked dazed and wondered if his friend had a concussion.

Bryce spoke through the pain. "I tried to stop the guy holding me. I've never seen anyone move so fast. It's like I was instantly on the ground, bleeding. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know. I just turned around and saw you on the ground, along with our kidnappers."

Both turned to look at Sarah, who was calmly talking into her phone. They only caught the last part of her comment. "I don't know if it's connected or not, but these guys were clearly amateurs – strictly bush-league." Looking at the size of the men, who still weren't moving, Charles swallowed nervously, hoping to never meet professionals.

* * *

_As always, reviews are immensely appreciated. Let me know what's working, what isn't, what struck you (good or bad), etc. It's the only pay an author receives._


	8. Meetings of the Minds

_My funds are still insufficient to afford Chuck, so I own no part of the show. My only pay for this is the satisfaction of writing and the reviews I get. As always, huge thanks to sharpasamarble for his high-quality beta reads. Any mistakes that persist are entirely my fault._

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
****9:22 a.m.  
October 1**

The four people sitting around the table were all significantly different from each other, but they were working towards a common goal – the safety and security of the people and property of BarLar. The fact that they had different definitions of safe and secure hadn't really occurred to them before.

"I say we just leave 'em in the secure bunker," John Casey was saying. Charles had met the older man only a few hours ago and he was already building an understanding of the NSA agent's predilections. Most weren't ones with which he was entirely comfortable.

"No!" He said it as forcefully as he could, for what felt like the sixth or seventh time. "They're my friends and I'm not going to abandon them like that. There has to be a way to get them out and let them live their lives. They've done nothing wrong." He mutely appealed to Sarah to settle the argument. His estimation of her abilities, already extremely high, had grown to astronomical proportions after the event in Washington, D.C. He thought a flicker of concern and admiration, mixed with other emotions, was showing behind her eyes, but he lost a moment in their beauty. When he looked again, the emotional content he thought he'd seen was nowhere in evidence.

Casey didn't give her the chance to speak. "They've been exposed to the enemy and to a secure government facility. They're liabilities not only to themselves but to everyone who works there. It's too dangerous. Unless one of you geniuses can come up with a way to scrub their minds of …"

The words continued, but Charles stopped paying attention. Scrub their minds. Something in that phrase tickled a part of Charles's brain. He couldn't quite finish forming the entire thought, however.

Bryce had no such difficulty. "That's it! Those two only have a passing relationship with reality anyway. If we could just convince them that it never happened, we'd be home free. It shouldn't be that hard."

Casey growled something under his breath that sounded like "Probably not all they have passing relationships with…"

Charles, ignoring the interruption, took up the plan. "Oh, that's perfect. They're always making up stories. Even if they told somebody, nobody would believe them. If we got them really drunk again…"

Casey's mutter was louder this time and completely clear through Charles's voice. "Like giving candy to a baby." It interrupted his momentum, which allowed Bryce to retake control of the plan.

"Put them through something a bit crazy – fill the end of the story with enough insanity that it casts doubt on the whole story."

"It's been four days. Do you think anybody will believe they've been in a drunken stupor that long?"

Bryce and Charles shared a look. "Yeah, you might not want to stretch it out more than another day or two, though. That'd set a new record."

Sarah finally spoke. "I know just the thing. Now, how are we going to catch the people who did this?"

"I…" Charles swallowed nervously. He was addressing Sarah, not noticing the scowl of anger and disappointment growing on the NSA man's face. "I thought Casey here said he caught the men who were trying to dump them into the ocean. Didn't you?"

"Yeah, but those guys were just muscle. They're not the people in charge. They don't know anything, except that your other two idiotic friends indicated that the head moron, Morgan, might know something. That's why we just need to let him get captured and then go in and…"

Charles interrupted him. "NO! We are not using my oldest friend as bait in some trap."

The feminine voice was full of quiet confidence. "He's the natural choice, Charles. Most tempting target with the least danger to the overall project."

"Absolutely not. He wouldn't understand or know the danger. No, if you need bait, pick me."

"That is not happening." Casey's voice was firm, level, and uncompromising. "You are too valuable."

Everyone's eyes fell to the floor, as they tried to find an agreeable solution. Finally, Bryce spoke, slowly and quietly. "I'll do it."

**

* * *

NSA Headquarters  
2:00 p.m.**

General Diane Beckman initiated the secure connection into the CIA headquarters at precisely 1400 hours. That precision was one of the primary justifications for her rise to her current position. Not leaving things to chance was a way of life. Order and precision made the functioning of an intelligence office possible. She expected similar discipline from everyone – the most experienced agent to the rawest recruit and even the cleaning and secretarial staffs.

The instant Director Graham's visage was visible on her monitor, she began speaking. "I've had preliminary discussions with Dr. Zarnow. He is at a loss to explain how Mr. Bartowski was able to manually identify the images. I suspect some method of surreptitiously obtaining the information."

"I have had some discussions with my people, too. They all seemed to indicate his feat was possible, though highly unlikely. We did some experimentation with human subjects a few years back and there is evidence to suggest that some individuals may be able to remember encoded images and to determine the details of sub-images on a subconscious level."

"Why haven't I heard of this before?" Beckman did not like being left out of the loop on anything, even though she knew the answer.

"The effort was highly classified. It was shut down after some … difficulties with the test subjects."

"What kind of difficulties?"

It was obvious to the general that the CIA man was picking his words with care. It was this kind of inter-agency lack of cooperation that the Intersect project was supposed to be thwarting, not instigating. The irony was that she wasn't showing her full hand either – spies, and by extension, spy masters, were naturally very protective of all information, especially that which they deemed sensitive. It was hammered in by years of experience and couldn't be erased by fiat. "Some of the subjects … exhibited signs of … mental instability after exposure to multiple images."

"Severity?" The potential implications of the study were staggering. One of the greatest limitations of the Intersect computer was its immobility. That greatly limited incoming data to correlate against. A mobile Intersect would be immensely valuable.

"Bad enough that the entire operation was shut down." Diane could read most people well, even agents, because of long training and intensive scrutiny of others. Arthur Graham was another story – his mental book remained closed to her. Knowledge of his feelings about that shutdown, therefore, eluded her.

Chewing thoughtfully on her lip, for his benefit as much as hers, she replied carefully, working to avoid verbal landmines. "Would it be possible to … reopen at least the project's files … for a … seemingly unique talent?"

A squint greeted her question, as her counterpart put together everything she was asking and tried to decide on an answer. The mere fact that they had investigated in this area meant they recognized the advantages. But were the risks too high? She waited patiently.

"Potentially. I have to consult with others on that."

She nodded. That was as positive a response as she could have hoped for. "Shall we discuss again in a week?"

A ghost of a grimace crossed his face. "We'd better make it two." She nodded in return and cut the connection. Nothing, not even finding good computer code, was ever easy, she mused, as she marked the meeting on her calendar and got back to work.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
3:12 p.m.**

Lester rushed into the office with Jeff hot on his heels. "Morgan, thank God. You've got to find a place to hide us. Oh, and you probably should get out of here, too. You're in terrible danger."

"Is it from your breath? Because that could be classified as a controlled substance." Morgan's nonplussed reaction didn't slow Lester at all, though his voice must have carried, because Anna came waltzing over. Even Charles and Bryce appeared near the doors to their offices.

"No, it's not my breath. We were kidnapped." Lester shot back.

Jeff added his two bits. "We had to dwell in hell. Locked in a cell."

"Yes, the structure's a cell." Lester added.

"Mad is the story you tell!" Morgan finished.

"No, wait!" Lester's eyes focused again, enough to see Charles grinning at Bryce. "This is serious. We were kidnapped and they made us tell them our passwords and everything. They were going to kill us."

"Were they now?" Anna finished her trip to the front. "Now just how were they going to do that?"

"Worried about me, baby?" Jeff asked, sidling up to her.

"No, just gathering ideas. I'm thinking of writing a book." She deftly sidestepped the approaching form, leaving the blonde man sidling up to nothing, which he still did.

Lester almost yelled to get their attention. "Can we focus here? They were going to push our car into the bay, with us in it!"

Anna flipped open a notepad and started jotting things down. "Uh-huh. And what foiled this plan?"

Lester resumed the narrative. "John Casey showed up. Said he found us with microbots or something. And he shot out the tire to stop the car."

Morgan was caught up in the story. "Microbots, dude? That's fantastic; I think I heard something about those the other day, on a sci-fi show. But how'd you get here?"

"We drove the car, of course, but then came the weirdest part." Lester didn't seem to notice the inherent contradiction in his statements. "Our illustrious manager locked us up, again, and grilled us for hours."

By now, Charles and Bryce had come over. Charles asked, "How'd you get out of that predicament?"

Lester began "A brunette angel appeared and unlocked the doors. Smokin' hot body …"

Jeff interrupted. "Not as hot as you, though, Anna."

"Grow up!" she retorted.

"Anyway," Lester was determined to complete the story, even though he could tell no one believed him. "We started walking out when a light flashed and we were teleported to our car. We drove straight here."

"Teleported?" an obviously-amused Bryce asked.

"It's the only explanation. Some super-technology, I think. One instant we were walking out and the next we were in the car. Anyway, Morgan, we told them that you would know the passwords. You're in terrible danger."

Charles's voice was deadly serious. "He's right, you know." Then a grin split his face. "Listening to that story could give you an aneurysm."

"Be on the look-out for Vulcans, too. I hear those mind-meld techniques are pretty effective at discovering passwords." Bryce twisted the sarcasm knife, to the discomfort of the newly-returned employees.

"I'm serious! I nearly died." A bit of spittle flew from Lester's mouth, but he didn't notice.

Morgan did, though. "Yeah, like that time you were convinced the flowerpot was going to spontaneously combust. Or the time you wanted to show us all where aliens had probed you…." He shuddered.

Jeff took up the narrative. "Yeah, that would've been amazing to see. But this is more like the time he had a premonition about a snake biting him."

The Indian spun to face him. "That only came true because you put a snake in my desk drawer!"

"Guys, guys." Bryce stepped between them to stop the potential fight. "I'm gonna have to dock your pay for not coming to work. Try to keep the drinking under control, OK?"

They both dropped their eyes. "Yes, sir."

As the employees started back to their various positions, Jeff managed to fall in beside Anna. "I just had a near-death experience. Will you comfort me?" He gave what appeared to be an effort at puppy-dog eyes, which failed miserably.

Anna visibly recoiled. "Ewww! Gross. I'd rather be with Morgan!"

Hearing this, a bearded head poked up above the newly-reinstalled divider and watched with great interest as the Asian female retreated to her cube nearest the bosses' doors.

**

* * *

BarLar Inc.  
5:54 p.m.**

Bryce was safely ensconced in his office, where he was truly king of his domain. It always gave him a satisfying sense of prestige. He wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to be doing, but making things seem as normal as possible was definitely on the list. That meant following up with another potential investor.

A couple of years ago he had left an important phone number on his desk. Nobody was certain whether a breeze had blown it into a trash can which had been emptied or if Jeff had eaten the note or what, but it had been irrevocably lost. By the time he had been able to reestablish contact, the investor had moved on. At that time, he had forced himself to develop the habit of storing all phone numbers on his person – typically written on a business card stashed in the pocket of his shirt.

That habit proved its value again. It was late, but this client had expressed indifference to time considerations. It had taken the executive until now to be comfortable with what he could, should, and most importantly would say about the future of his company, but delay would serve no further purpose. When the phone was answered, he asked for Tommy Cordero.

"Mr. Cordero? This is Bryce Larkin. You had expressed interest in BarLar Inc. I don't know if you heard about our break-in…"

"I'd heard. Most unfortunate." Tommy replied curtly.

"Well, we are mostly back in business. I was hoping I could still entice you into investing in our venture…." Bryce let the words hang in the air. He'd learned the power of getting the other side in a negotiation to speak by leaving silences. Most people couldn't bear silence and reacted instinctively to fill it, even at their own expense.

Unfortunately, Tommy Cordero was not an average investor. He also waited quietly. As the seconds stretched out, Bryce felt the discomfort building within himself. Swallowing to himself, he resolved to wait a few more seconds.

It was enough. "Can you deliver what you indicated before?"

"Yes, we can." That was easy enough.

"And the matter of the source code?"

Bryce glanced nervously from side-to-side and licked his lips. This delicate issue had occupied most of his thoughts. He knew his answer, however, and gave it. "Negotiable."

He could hear the smile on the other end of the phone. "Excellent. Let's meet in person, then, and discuss options." Bryce smiled inwardly; the fish had taken the bait – it was nice to be a salesman again.

_

* * *

Reviews, comments, encouragements, suggestions etc. all gratefully received (and occasionally asked for!)._


	9. Games

_Well, it's been a LONG time coming, but I blame the show's writers (rightly or wrongly). Huge thanks to sharpasamarble for betas months apart with no loss in rhythm and skill._

**

* * *

Unknown Location  
Los Angeles  
Sunday, Oct. 7  
3:23 p.m.**

Tommy mentally reviewed his checklist. His meeting with Bryce Larkin was scheduled for tomorrow afternoon and he wanted to be certain everything went according to plan.

The reports from his Washington contact indicated that the BarLar executives had picked up some professional security. Overpowering the security detail would almost assuredly work, but it was so crude. Tommy preferred to work more subtly, staying in the shadows and not arising suspicion and investigations. He preferred to use brute force only as a last resort, though he had significant expertise in that area if and when it became necessary, of course.

He had made a number of phone calls to the individuals who were responsible for the activities he had planned for tomorrow. They had been able to repeat their instructions and contingency operations word perfectly. Like most plans, it contained more moving parts than he would have liked, but many of those parts were simply redundancies to avoid any single point of failure concerns. It was the price one paid for self-preservation and anonymity, he reflected.

The only remaining preparations to verify were his own. He had been meticulous in tracking down many of the subject's previous interactions with clients, with dilettantes, and even with childhood friends. Those records now resided in a manila folder. Tommy had read those reports six times each, but over-preparation was as inbred into his psyche as it was into any other agent's. He sat down to review the documents along with his mental and psychological approach to the coming encounter.

Tommy could see a lot of himself in Bryce – both were men who knew what they wanted and were willing to work to get it. A certain degree of ruthlessness accompanied both of their histories, though Tommy was significantly ahead on that particular score, perhaps simply a function of increased opportunity. In different circumstances, Tommy could almost imagine the two of them working together. As it was, Tommy's superior knowledge of what the other man desired gave him an advantage – one he expected to exploit completely.

**

* * *

Outside Ellie's Apartment  
6:12 p.m.**

Sarah approached the dinner party with minimal reluctance. Her cover had changed mid-mission before and she was pretty deft at converting from one to the other. The name was probably the hardest to explain, but they'd worked that angle, too. It all seemed to fit in rather smoothly.

After Bryce had rung the doorbell, the attractive brunette answered with a not-quite-sincere smile. "Bryce. And I don't believe we've me…" Her eyes tracked to Sarah and hesitated. "Wait. Is this a second date?" The surprise and unmasked joy in her voice sent tendrils of curiosity through Sarah's body – had Bryce not brought second dates before?

"Hi, yes. But this is a little embarrassing."

"Suzanne, right?"

Sarah's sigh was purely for Ellie's benefit. "That's what's awkward. I have to travel a lot for business and I often use a fake name." Sarah looked down and brought her right toe in contact with the ground, per recommended practice. "My real name is Sarah. Sarah Walker." She paused before flicking her eyes back to the older woman's face, briefly, before looking back down. The sight was encouraging – she saw empathy and concern through the horror and confusion. "I'm really hoping we could treat this more like a first meeting. I'm … I'm not proud of what I did before."

"Well, this is unexpected. I don't quite…" Ellie was at a loss for words. Her blonde boyfriend saved her.

"What's unexpected, babe?" He looked out and saw Bryce and Sarah. He did a double-take upon seeing Sarah. "I've seen you before!" He then looked at Bryce and back at Sarah. "Roping in the Bryce-ster. After what happened last time you were here? That's just awesome."

OK, thought Sarah, mentally drawing out the word, the manual didn't cover this kind of reaction. Her performance before had been flawless and would surely have gotten her top marks in any course at the academy. All their preparations and role-play hadn't prepared her for this particular response, however. Bryce was apparently someone outside the typical profile at the CIA. Or Devon and Ellie were. Maybe the whole group was completely unpredictable. Regardless, it made a potentially deadly dull evening more interesting. Charles Bartowski kept more intriguing company than appeared on first blush.

"Ummm…yeah. I think we both just consider this a second first date, since I wasn't fully myself then, either." Seeing Devon's confused look, she clarified. "My real name is Sarah. Suzanne isn't really who I am – it's just a name I use traveling on business."

Ellie's brow was furrowed uncertainly, but she moved aside. "Come in, come in! This is certainly … unexpected, but I guess if you two can start over, we can too. We've certainly had enough practice meeting Bryce's girlfriends to treat this like a first date."

"Can we stop with the picking-on-Bryce motif in front of my new girlfriend?" He pulled her tighter against him and gave her a kiss, which she accepted as a necessary part of their cover.

"You're right, we're being totally not awesome. We'll wait until you two know each other better. Then we'll give her all the gruesome details." Sarah smiled on her way in – the welcome was more than she deserved and easier than it could have been. Charles's family was amazingly pleasant – too bad the man himself hadn't arrived yet, which caused the smile to waver internally, though her lips never moved.

**

* * *

Ellie's Apartment  
7:44 p.m.**

Sarah hadn't caught the name of the game they were playing, but the premise was simple enough. Each player had to predict his or her partner's answer to a particular question drawn from a box. Once Ellie had decreed that any second date for Bryce was a reason to get to know each other better, the rest quickly agreed to play.

The first question was for Ellie, from Devon. "What is my least favorite nickname?" Bryce rolled his eyes and the female doctor smiled as she wrote. Once she was finished, he gave his answer. "Captain Awesome." Of course, that was what Ellie had written down.

"Captain Awesome?" Sarah asked, giggling slightly.

Charles answered her question. "Oh, sure. Haven't you noticed that everything he does is awesome? Climbing mountains, jumping out of airplanes, … flossing."

Devon rolled his eyes but spoke to Ellie. "Great answer, babe." Leaning in, he gave her a not-entirely-chaste kiss.

The question box passed to Charles and Jill. Charles asked first. "What was the name of my favorite childhood pet?" Sarah knew the answer to this one – it had been part of their briefing and was information she supposed any spouse should know.

Apparently, however, Jill wasn't any spouse or Sarah was even more out of touch than she knew. "I don't remember. Some kind of fruit… Pears? Nauseatingly cute, whatever it was." She wasn't even making an effort to be civil. It was small wonder that Ellie had embraced Sarah's stumbling attempts at conversation so graciously. Anything was an improvement over the vapid wife of Charles.

Bryce's question for Sarah was about his favorite flavor of ice cream. They had not had any cover activities around frozen desserts, so she was forced to guess. Her answer of "fudge ripple" was deemed close enough to his "rocky road" 'for a new couple', and they were allowed to score. Bryce celebrated by kissing Sarah – he never missed an opportunity to exploit her inability to stop him. He wasn't a bad kisser, though, so her duty wasn't particularly onerous that evening.

The game itself required only a small portion of Sarah's mind, so she naturally fell into agent mode – evaluating the situation as she had so many others. She had been on many missions where the first step was identifying the leader in a group. It wasn't typically hard – he or she was the first to grin and laugh at jokes, the first to defend when teasing pushed too hard, and the one the others subtly acknowledged as the compass for the group. Some groups tried to protect their leaders, while others were simple. As civilians, the Bartowski clan was unsurprisingly easy to read. The surprise was that the leader wasn't the handsome doctor or the elder sister. It was Charles.

Her agent skills were tingling, telling her to move to the arm of the leader, a position to slay or seduce as needed. An entirely different set of nerves were also firing, admiring the easy smile, palpable trust, and laughter that oozed from the man. It would be so easy to fall into orbit around him – as friend, co-worker, henchman, or lover. The last thought caught her off guard. Somehow, though, she had been evaluating him as that, she realized.

It was particularly confusing the moment after she made this realization when Bryce kissed her. An overwhelming swell of emotions hit her – confused frustration that someone other than the center of attention was on her lips, enjoyment of the physical sensations, anger at the situation, panic at dropping her guard around Charles, alertness to danger, and a host of others. She had to shut them all down to be able to focus. The need to focus was normal; the difficulty doing so was not.

The game itself went about as expected. Ellie and Devon rarely missed and led handily. She and Bryce rarely connected and were perpetually behind. Charles answered every question about Jill correctly; Jill appeared to know nothing about Charles. It was odd that the biggest outsider in the group was one who had been part of it for a long time, and the one seemingly most closely tied to the central figure.

Something else about the evening struck Sarah as odd, but she couldn't put her finger on it until Jill, of all people, said, "Well, this was fun, but we really should be going." Fun. Sarah Walker had been having fun. It seemed such a normal reaction to an evening, but the entire concept was mostly a vague recollection for her. As soon as she recognized it and far before she could even begin to luxuriate in the unexpected pleasure, it was over. The core of the fun was leaving.

It was far too early in the evening for the soiree to be legitimately breaking up, but Jill was standing and pulling Chuck to his feet. As he reached to steady himself, his gold watch glimmered. It was the only cheery sight in the place, as pallor descended where laughter had reigned only minutes before.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
Oct. 8  
12:02 p.m.**

Charles looked quickly through the few rooms of his company's office. Where was Morgan? He couldn't find him and that disturbed him. Morgan should be there.

He walked to the front, where John Casey had established a personal space that was his own. While it had no walls, not even the cushioned fabric pieces that demarked the cubicles of most of the employees, his space was completely respected. No one walked in without an invitation, not even the head of the company. Charles stopped outside the virtual office, near where the door had been established by nothing more than Casey's decree and glower.

A firm stare met his eyes, but he was able to bear it the few seconds necessary to get a "What do you want, Bartowski?"

Charles stepped inside, giving the illusion of privacy. The agitation was visible on his face. "Where's Morgan?"

"He left for lunch 24 minutes ago. Given his track record, the moron will be back in about 98 minutes."

"I'd say more like 106, but not today." Chuck shook his head, clearing away thoughts of discussions of the finer details of Morgan's habits. "Isn't today the second Monday of the month?"

Casey checked his watch briefly. "Yeah. So what?"

"Then he's not out at lunch. Not today. So, I repeat, where is he? Where's my little buddy?"

A cynical, skeptical grunt met his query, but the older man's fingers started dancing over the keypad of one of his computers. "He's at the Panda Express on Flower Street."

"Morgan? Asian food? On the second Monday of the month? No way. Second Monday of the month is always Manic Mexican Monday – a tradition he started when I was at Stanford. Beans, beans, spicy food, and more beans – he saw it as a way to get out of work. The guacamole beard is also a sight to miss. Anyway, Morgan brings it back here and we eat it together at noon. He never misses it." Seeing the disbelief on Casey's face, he continued. "Plus, Morgan wouldn't be caught dead in a Panda Express. It's just wrong." The calm tenor he'd been trying to exude throughout the meeting, to convince Casey that he wasn't just paranoid, was beginning to crack. His voice had raised nearly an octave through his little speech.

"Really, Bartowski."

"Trust me. Something's really wrong. I thought you were supposed to be taking care of us."

Making a decision, Casey stood abruptly and headed for the exit. Before reaching the door, though, he turned back. "If this is some kind of joke, Bartowski…" The threat hung in the air long after the man had left.

_

* * *

Authors live for reviews. It's easy. The button is JUST down there. :)__ What did you like, hate, miss? Let me know.  
_


	10. Chasing a Phantom

_Sorry for the delay. This chapter wrote quickly and edited slowly. Sharpasamarble just has too many good pieces of advice. It needed work. I think it got all the massaging it needed, but it took longer than I'd expected. Hopefully the next chapter will be quicker. At least it's longer than my average chapter, hopefully helping make the wait less annoying._

**Panda Express****  
October 8  
12:17 p.m.**

Casey hated feeling like a fool. It wasn't like Bartowski to play a practical joke, but some sense was telling the NSA agent that something about the whole affair was wrong. Of course, he'd felt that way before the strange conversation which had sent him into the sunshine and towards the Panda Express. He just wished he could put his finger on the source of his unease.

It was a different sort of uneasiness than Casey often felt about all things Morgan. His polar opposite had many strange fascinations, including sandwiches, which made Casey almost queasy to consider. Nevertheless, since Grimes had been tagged by his fellow imbeciles as a potential source of information, Casey had kept very close tabs on him.

A quick scan of the fast-food joint revealed no sign of the bearded buffoon. Striding confidently down the aisles, Casey searched for Grimes – the small bearded man should have been easy to see and just as easy to smell. His voice, too, had a way of piercing through conversations and eardrums alike. However, the Panda Express seemed completely free of any of his particular brand of taint.

Midway through a more careful sweep, when his attention was more on the people two booths away than on where he was going, a patron stood up directly in his path. The resulting collision sent the newly-stood man sprawling to the floor. Casey paused to help him up, apologizing. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't see you."

"Barging around like an elephant, I'm surprised this is the first time that's happened." The older gentleman harrumphed back at him, straightening the wind breaker on his lean form.

Casey's mouth tightened in annoyance, but he kept his words and tone polite. "Again, sir, I'm sorry. You seem to have mis-aligned your collar…" He reached out and flipped the collar into its proper position with military quickness.

The man sprang back as if he'd been stung. "Don't you dare ever touch me again," he hissed, before stalking out.

Casey shook his head and smiled at the other patrons, whose attentions were now firmly fixed on him: the lone remaining actor in the scene. He held up his hands in a signal of peace and forced a winning smile onto his face. "Guess it's just one of those days, isn't it?"

Casey headed to the counter, ostensibly to order food. Any additional notable behavior, like walking out without eating food, would only cement his image in the mind of all the other patrons, which he didn't need. As he stood in line, though, he replayed the scene with the old man in his head. The image of the collar kept returning – something about it was wrong. He concentrated harder and saw it – a flash of black. It definitely was one of those days.

Spinning on his heel, he moved quickly for the exit, thoughts of preserving his sleepy cover momentarily abandoned. His hand was already pulling out his cell phone and he was dialing a number he'd promised himself he'd never call.

When the other end picked up, he spoke quickly. "Walker, I was tracing Grimes. Someone's got him." After a pause, he snarled, "Of course I'm sure. I just got accosted by a man wearing a wire. Here's the plan. I'll trace the watch. You get with Bartowski and find out every place Grimes might be."

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
12:52 p.m.**

Charles was working in his office, trying to debug a particularly thorny piece of code. It was designed to recognize similar shapes even after a variety of perturbations including rotation, mirroring, resizing, and a certain amount of angle distortion. In his mind, it wasn't necessarily hard to do, just hard to do quickly and efficiently. However, the operative word was 'trying', because he was having no success. It wasn't just the difficulty of the work that was his problem – it was his concern about Morgan.

As he sat and reflected, he thought again about how weird his relationship with Morgan must appear to others. He knew Jill didn't understand and had even tried unsuccessfully to separate the two of them. Nevertheless, it didn't make sense, in a lot of ways. Charles was so many things that Morgan was not – driven, charismatic, and efficient. Outsiders were often taken with the incongruity. But Morgan completed a very fundamental part of himself, Charles knew – the part that needed to have fun. Plus, Morgan had always been someone Charles could trust without reservation. It started when they were kids and only strengthened when things with Jill started souring. Nothing could be allowed to happen to him.

So, he sat and stewed, wondering what was taking so long. He also condemned the government agents' insufficient protection of him after Jeff and Lester had so clearly identified him as a target. It was ludicrous.

When the door opened and Sarah Walker came in, therefore, his "Well?" was curter than she deserved. His face immediately showed his regret. "Sorry, I'm just not used to this. Have you found him?"

"Not yet." She smiled at him reassuringly. "Don't worry. We'll find him. Do you have any ideas where he might go on his own?"

"I thought you were supposed to be the professionals."

"We are. Casey's tracking his watch right now. But we need to know his habits and activities so that we can detect anomalies as they're happening instead of after the fact."

"You want to learn about Morgan? Why?"

"Well, I was thinking about going out with him…" Sarah chuckled lightly at the shock on Charles's face. "Think, Charles, I need to be able to predict his movements. Where would he go?"

"Oh. Well, his idiosyncrasies could fill a book. In fact," he paused, looking into the ceiling briefly, "I'm surprised he hasn't written one already. Anyway, I don't know how quickly you could grasp the legend and myth that is Morgan Grimes."

Sarah gave him an appraising look. "Legend, huh? You really care about him, don't you?"

"He's been my best friend for a long time. He's always there for me. And now I need to be there for him. What can I do to help?"

"Trust me. Help me find him, if Casey doesn't have him already." At that moment Sarah's phone announced its presence. "It's Casey," she told Charles before holding the phone to her ear.

Neither the words nor the expression boded well for Morgan's future. "Did you get him?" "What about the watch?" "I was scheduled to accompany Larkin on a sales call." "I'm on it."

The despondence Charles felt at the prospect of his little buddy being lost and probably in the hands of a skilled torturer overwhelmed any glee he might have felt at the use of his partner's last name. As Sarah hung up, a fearful Charles asked, "What happened?"

"Apparently, Casey found Grimes' watch on some teen-ager on a bus. Said he found it on the street. So we're back at square one. Do you have any idea where Morgan could be?"

"Some, but a lot depends on how he got there. If the bad guys took him, though, won't he be somewhere completely unexpected?"

A steely glare was her first reply. "That's the most likely scenario, yes, but let's examine all possibilities here. We can't rule out the possibility that he just wandered off on his own, can we?"

"No." Charles hesitated, but the need for honesty and safety won out over other needs. He admitted, "that would be a typically Morgan thing to do."

"OK, then, here's the plan…" Sarah's plan was interrupted by Bryce entering the room.

"Plans without me?" Bryce's smile was infectious and Charles could see it affecting Sarah. His depression deepened further with that realization. "But I thought we already had plans," Bryce continued to Sarah, walking towards her.

"Plans? Like going out plans?" Charles shouldn't have cared, he knew. But he did. Or he would have if he hadn't been worried about Morgan.

"More like baby-sitting cover activities." Sarah assured Charles while avoiding a kiss attempt from Bryce. Then, turning to Bryce, she added, "Do you think you can handle this call on your own?"

Bryce's blue eyes twinkled dangerously as he purred his answer. "Of course I can. It's just that you instructed me not to go anywhere without you. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were having as much fun as I was."

"Well, you should know better." Somehow, though, Charles thought that her body language didn't match her words. "Something's come up, though. You'll have to take care of this one alone."

"I can handle myself. I am a big boy, you know." With that, Bryce stalked out.

Sarah's eyes followed him an uncomfortably long time, from Charles's perspective. It was probably only a second later, though, before she asked again, "Where could I find Morgan?"

Charles sighed. "I can show you better than I can tell you. And I'm not getting anything done worrying about him anyway. Let's go."

**

* * *

Sarah's Porsche****  
Los Angeles, CA  
1:01 p.m.**

"It all depends on how he was feeling, if he is off on his own," Charles was explaining to Sarah. "If he was feeling abandoned, he'd probably drown his sorrows in grape sodas. His favorite grocery store is the Handi Market at the corner of Magnolia and Buena Vista. We should check there first, probably, because if Kara's working there, Morgan would have tried to hit on her, again, and she'd probably remember it. I mean, she's not unattractive, but I can't imagine too many guys hit on her, not like you. I imagine you have to beat guys off with a stick."

Sarah smiled to herself, for two reasons. First, no matter how many times a woman had heard that she was attractive, it was always nice to hear it again. That went doubly so for someone who had the twin qualities of unrelentingly honesty and no ulterior motives. Second, the level of detail of Charles's knowledge about his friend was stunning. The two had obviously spent much time together. Despite their obvious differences, it was clear that Charles really cared for Morgan. True loyalty and friendship weren't things Sarah had seen often. She had never experienced it in her own life and relegated tales of its existence to the same bin where she'd placed Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. That assignation to the land of fiction was being tested.

As she drove and Charles's words swept over her (something about a specific brand of grape soda being only available at a couple places in town), she allowed herself a momentary daydream about what it would be like to adored in a similar fashion. A tall man with dark hair would meet her at the door of a home. She would tell him everything about her day and past and he wouldn't judge, he wouldn't leave, he wouldn't try to take advantage. Sarah didn't fantasize often, and an idealistic home life was her only recurring fantasy. This was that fantasy, though slightly different and more detailed than before.

They reached the Handi Market, with no other particularly relevant nuggets of intel to be found in Charles's description. Charles frowned when they entered the store and he saw a man working behind the counter. "I don't know this guy's name, but he's kind of a jerk. I don't know if he'll tell us -". Sarah surprised them both by cutting him off with a finger to his lips. His breath was warm and somehow comforting. The surprised pleasure evident in his widening eyes thrilled her, too, but it was distracting from the issue at hand.

Sarah smiled but removed her finger from his lip, while she mentally removed herself back to the comfort of her job. "This will be easy. You can watch, if you'd like." Years of training clicked into place and Sarah strutted to the desk, transforming the casual jeans and blouse she was wearing into a sultry outfit by sheer willpower. She could feel the eyes of three men on her – Charles's, the check-out man's, and a shopper's, much to the annoyance of his accompanying girlfriend.

"Excuse me. I'm hoping you can help me." Her voice and her eyes danced across the shopkeeper. The tightening of his eyes and a tremor near his lips let her know that, once again, she was having the desired effect. "I'm looking for a friend of mine."

The check-out man nodded. "Sure," he replied in a daze. "I'd be happy to do you. Do you a favor, I mean."

"Did you sell some grape soda to a short guy with a full beard today?" He was completely enthralled. Sometimes Sarah had to approach a topic obliquely. Such restraint was not required in this case.

She watched the conflict – close his eyes to remember or keep looking at her? After a brief hesitation, he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow. "Today?" he said after a moment's thought, opening his eyes and shaking his head. "I'm afraid not."

Sarah allowed herself to high heavily, bemused at the failed attempt to keep eyes from flickering downward. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

She turned to leave, collecting an equally-stupefied Charles on her way out. "No luck. What's our next target?" Her voice had returned to a business-like tone.

"That … that was amazing. That guy is normally the world's biggest jackass, but…. Of course, not that I could deny you anything either, but… How do you do that?" His blabbering was kind of cute, she thought. It was so innocent and unfiltered.

"Do what?" She tried to make her tone sound teasing, but she knew she was fishing for more compliments she could believe, too.

"Go from a 12 on a one to ten scale to, like, a 73?"

She chuckled as they got back into the car. "Years of practice. But, back to Morgan. No grape soda means what?" The instant Morgan's name was mentioned she could see Charles snap back into the moment. On the one hand, it was distressing to see her spell dissipate so quickly, but, on the other, it was impressive to such devoted friendship.

"Well, if he was on his own," a spasm of terror shook him at the thought, "it means he's not upset. So he would probably be looking for a diversion. That means there's only place he'd likely be."

**

* * *

Santa Monica Pier  
Los Angeles, CA  
2:20 p.m.**

"Are you sure about this?" Sarah asked Charles as they approached the source of the pinging sounds and pungent odors.

"You wanted to know the other place he might be, if he were still free. This is it." Noting the look in Sarah's eyes, Charles was taken aback. The normal complete confidence was shaken, only slightly but enough to be noticed.

"OK, let's go." They entered the arcade but had gone less than three steps before forward movement became nearly impossible. Teen-aged boys were everywhere, pushing forward, crowding around. Charles had experienced a similar event before, but he'd been one of the throng then, trying to get close to see a master at Ms. Pac-Man at work. Something had drawn their attention quickly and powerfully.

It only took a moment to realize the object of their fascination. Every eye in the place was on the stunning blonde next to him. While he hadn't become immune to her charms, not by any means, he had become slightly used to the ethereal beauty. Even with her sultry switch off, Sarah drew a crowd. Phones everywhere were being opened and pictures taken. He shot her a questioning look and received a knowing roll of eyes in return. "I'll wait outside," she mouthed before sashaying out with an entire entourage of followers.

Charles proceeded through the din and dimness of the arcade. The first "Damn machine!" had Charles excited, and he hurried through the smell of stale sweat to its source. Flashing lights and a swarm of sound threatened his every step. The speaker was a teen girl whose resemblance to Morgan began and ended with their ability to swear up a storm when things weren't going the right way.

His heart sinking, Charles looked around. A mop of dark hair was bobbing in what seemed to be Morgan's bouncing gait. It disappeared behind a bank of machines. Chasing it, Charles heard screams from the dying, muffled by the sound of gunfire. A person could be tortured right in the middle of the arcade and the sounds would simply blend in. A vision of Morgan enduring that fate hastened Charles's bumping run through the milling crowd. Once again, however, his hope was cheated, as the dark hair belonged to a boy of 12 or so, trying to find the next game to beat.

An arcade is a wonderful place to disappear and the sounds of dying Pac-men aren't exactly encouraging. Three more times, Charles's hopes were raised and dashed. Each time, his breath hastened and his heart missed a beat before disappointment reigned again. Instead of repetition dulling the pain, it just made it sharper, like reopening an old wound.

Charles completed his second complete walkthrough of the arcade before he succumbed to the growing despondency. He found an unused Dance Dance Revolution machine and sat on its edge, with his head in his hands. "Your steps are amazing!" called out the machine and Charles remembered the few times he and Morgan had consented to humiliate themselves on the machine. It produced resounding "Boos" for them.

A voice above him said "I think it works better if you use your feet instead of your butt."

"Morgan?!" Charles stood and embraced his friend, who returned it sheepishly. Charles then held him out at arm's length and beamed at him.

"Good to see you, too, Chuck." Morgan's voice was full of questions.

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah. Are you? Did you hit your head or something?"

"Morgan, you have to come with me, right now." Charles dragged him out of the arcade. Sarah magically materialized beside them once they entered the sunlight. She already had her cell phone out.

"He was here?" Relief and surprise were evident in Sarah's voice. Charles simply nodded, too choked up to speak.

"Obviously."

Sarah spoke into the phone. "Casey, we found him at the arcade. No sign of foul-play." She paused. "Something wrong? The man with the wire?"

Sarah frowned in concentration. Some part of Charles's mind noted how attractive even that pose was on her face. Her eyes opened in sudden understanding. "Ohmygod! Bryce!" She took off running, her phone to her ear, leaving behind the two friends staring at each other.

**

* * *

Temporary Office Facilities****  
Los Angeles, CA  
2:34 p.m.**

Bryce, at that moment, was listening attentively to the end of Tommy's terms. They concluded with "Do we have a deal?"

Concentrating on not fidgeting, Bryce reviewed his options. Or, more precisely, he reviewed his lack of options. Setting his face, he looked into his tormentor's eyes. "How do I know you'll keep your end of the bargain?"

A disconcerting smile was his first response. The following words only confirmed what he already suspected. "You don't."

"I don't really have a choice, do I? I agree." Bryce's attempt at bravado was betrayed by a slight crack in his voice.

"Excellent. And, remember, breathe a word to anyone and it's all over – for all of them."

_Standard plead for reviews. You know the drill. You write 'em; I love 'em._


	11. An Unprevented Death

_If a great beta reader is worth his or her weight in gold, sharpasamarble would have to be the size of an NFL lineman. But that would still be undervaluing him. Huge mega-thanks again to him for all the awesome suggestions – the ones I take and the ones I'm not smart enough to listen to._

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
Oct. 16  
9:43 a.m.**

Charles sat at his desk, facing the door of his office but not really seeing anything. He was making small gestures with his left hand and his mouth was feverishly whispering words or phrases which made no sense. Those who knew him best would realize that he wasn't having an epileptic fit; he was lost in thought and very close to solving a problem that had baffled him for days or weeks. It was not a time to interrupt him.

Fortunately, when he was so intensely lost in his thoughts, only extraordinary effort would disrupt him. One of Morgan's favorite stories to tell was how he had shot Chuck in the face with a water gun during one such episode. The story concluded with Chuck asking Morgan how he'd gotten wet. Another time, the rest of the BarLar employees had dared Anna to streak in front of Charles. She'd been out of view for several minutes, claiming to have done so, but nobody could confirm her story.

Thus, it was very surprising that a streak of blonde hair winging past his door would freeze him completely. His hand stopped its meandering, his lips ceased their frenetic movement – only his brow moved – furrowing even deeper. Moments later, he stood up and followed the motion he believed he had seen, towards Bryce's office.

He opened the door to see that he was correct – it was Sarah Walker who had streamed past his doorway. But it wasn't quite the calm, serene, placid Sarah Walker he thought he knew. Her eyes were rimmed with red and her gaze had a slightly vacant feel. She was normally 100% involved in every situation, so to see her somewhere else was disturbing. On the other hand, she was very present in the room, as a person, in a vulnerable sort of way which was also very unlike the Sarah Walker Charles thought he knew. She was seated in one of the chairs around the table that occupied part of Bryce's office – not ramrod straight as she often sat but slumped over, her chin resting on the crook of her right arm.

And Bryce was sitting there while she sniffled and looked lost, holding her hand and petting her hair. No one was around to see, and Chuck felt his heart sink. Immediately afterwards, he felt guilty – Sarah wasn't his in any sense of the word. Begrudging submission to the inevitability of Bryce getting yet another girl chased that emotion. He had no idea what showed on his face, but the look Bryce shot him could have shattered glass.

"What is it?" Bryce's voice was icy. Something had changed subtly since the afternoon Morgan had disappeared, but no one besides Charles had noticed. Indeed, nobody else was able to note any difference, even when he specifically noted one. This wasn't out of character, however. Bryce always resented interruptions when he seemed to be making progress with a woman he had been pursuing.

"I …" Chuck stammered. He wanted to tell the truth, but he knew Bryce wouldn't respond kindly to the real reason he was there. Competition was something his friend encouraged, except when it came to the 'fairer sex' as he called them. Fortunately, another reason was right at hand. "I think I've resolved the issue with matching the fuzzy fingerprints from the images we've been generating. But before I started working on it, I wanted to run the ideas past you, as a sanity check and to get your input."

Charles frequently had the inspiration, as well as providing the perspiration, to make projects work. But Bryce's keen mind had often provided a critical improvement or found a weakness which needed to be fixed nearly as often. They made a great team. Still, now was perhaps not the best time.

Bryce certainly seemed to think the timing was wrong. Indicating Sarah with eyes full of warning, Bryce asked, "Can't this wait? We're a little busy here."

Sarah looked up and Charles was struck by the puffiness of her eyes and their red rims. He was right; something was very wrong. Her words, though, were calm and steady. "That's quite all right. I'm fine. Do your job."

A mental war raged quickly and violently within Charles. One part cudgeled him to leave, using his marriage to Jill and friendship with Bryce as its primary weapons. Another part couldn't bear to see a friend, any friend, hurting and not provide comfort. That part used memories of helping Anna and other friends as its ammunition. That part also recalled multiple instances of Bryce being the cause of red, puffy eyes and was unwilling to leave a friend alone with him.

Without consciously making a decision, Charles walked over and sat next to Sarah. "Work can wait. This is important. Will …." He wanted to reach out and comfort her, pull her into a hug, and tell her it was all OK. But that he couldn't do. He simply couldn't, for a variety of reasons. One of those reasons was what she was, which also made him change his verbal tack. "Why don't you tell us what you can about it?"

Still seething at the interruption, Bryce composed his face and voice. "Yeah, talk to me."

"No, really, get on with your work. I shouldn't even be here."

"Nonsense," Charles replied. "It can wait. Trust me. This is more important."

"It's … well, it's complicated." Sarah started uncertainly. Her eyes strayed between three locations – the two men and a fixed spot between them.

Waiting until he could catch her eyes, Charles said softly, "We're in no hurry. Take all the time you need."

Sarah's eyes took on a far-away look before she spoke. "We were on … we had … a mission. Another agent was along – one you guys don't know but we've worked together before." Sarah smiled briefly, in a sad, wan sort of way. Charles could tell the memories were happy but that a new emotion was still too sharp to enjoy the reminiscence. "It was just supposed to be reconnaissance, but she was always so hasty. We had no way of knowing. We just never have enough intelligence on a mission. We study briefings, notes, building layouts – everything we can get our hands on. It's not enough. It's just never enough. And then he described the traps but…. I tried to warn her, but she never listened to me."

"Was she a friend?" Charles asked quietly. He felt little surprise about the gender of the other agent. Somehow, it seemed Sarah wouldn't mourn as much for a lost male agent.

Sarah looked at him, almost as if she were surprised that he was there. Her eyes quested across his face. He couldn't be sure what they found, but she spoke again. "My best friend for a long time." Her eyes danced between his. He felt like they were the only two people in the universe and wondered if she felt anything like it.

The thing was, they weren't even the only two people in the room. Bryce, perhaps sensing the connection, spoke. "That's terrible. You should be at home, not here. Let me take you home. I'll rub your back."

"No!" she almost snapped at him. "I should let you guys work. I shouldn't put my problems on you. Just stay and talk geek with Charles."

"But," Bryce purred at her, "people saw you come in here. If I don't take you home and comfort you, it will be bad for our cover. Trust me." At the mention of the word cover, Sarah seemed to take in the situation, with Bryce still touching her hair with his right hand, while his left hand was intertwined with her matching hand. She started to pull away, but she lacked her normal alacrity.

"C'mon. Let me take you home."

Sarah hesitated, but Chuck could see the battle was lost. Her glance flung about the room before settling on his face. Setting his face, he nodded unhappily. "Work can wait." He didn't want to add to Sarah's stress, but he didn't know what option was best for her.

Bryce pulled Sarah to her feet. He never let go of her hand, and his other hand fell to the small of her back, propelling her willing feet out the door. No matter how long Charles stared after them, neither so much as glanced backwards.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
10:19 a.m.**

Watching Bryce walk away with the blonde bombshell, Morgan couldn't take it anymore. He got up and walked over to Lester's cubicle. "I gotta find me a woman," he moaned.

"You came to the right place," Lester smiled. "I happen to have, at my fingertips, a vast repertoire of options."

Jeff popped his head over the cubicle wall. "Why is it, then, that you spend every night crying in your beer about how lonely you are? I mean, you have me."

Lester's shudder was enough answer for the second part of the statement. "Hush. Just because my highly refined tastes do not tend in that particular direction does not mean I'm unwilling to help out my … well, my less sophisticated friends."

"You've never offered to help me," Jeff complained.

"I said 'less sophisticated', not 'completely deprived', you cretin."

"That's alright. I've got all the woman I need right here." Jeff patted a small camcorder that he'd used around the office a number of times. He looked at the two of them conspiratorially. "Would you like to see?"

Sharing a glance, the other two quickly agreed. Jeff led them to the demo room, with its large TV. He connected his video camera with practiced ease. Once he pressed play, the unique strains of Air Supply filled the air. On the screen, Anna appeared. Sometimes it a short video clip of her bending over or reaching for something on a high shelf, but much of the video was a montage of still photos.

"Jeff," Lester said in admiring disgust, "this is the weirdest thing I've ever seen from you. And that's saying something."

"I … I'm speechless. I don't know what to say." Morgan said, his words being self-contradictory.

"I do," a feminine voice said from the doorway. It was Anna. "You're an even more disgusting creep than I thought. Which I didn't even know was possible." She grabbed the camera and ripped the cords out of its body. Her wrath unspent, she turned on the other two men. "Lester, I expected nothing better from you. But, you, Morgan, how could you do this?" She stormed out, leaving the three men gaping after her.

Morgan looked at the other two. "Should I follow her?"

"Definitely not," the Indian replied. "She's gonna be all mad."

"Yeah," Jeff added. "I've got another copy here anyway."

"That decides it. I'm definitely going after her." The principle of doing the opposite of Lester's recommendations was one of Morgan's few wise guiding principles. Running his fingers through his hair with one hand, he did a breath check with the other. Both were acceptable to him. So he set out on his quest.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
3:13 p.m.**

Charles had explained his ideas to Jeff and Lester, Anna and Morgan (who were together for some reason), and an irate, disinterested Casey. Collectively, the five of them understood less than a tenth of what he was saying. He told himself that the reason he was anxious for Bryce to return was that he wanted to vet his idea. He worked to convince himself that it had nothing to do with Sarah and her oddly emotional state. He was not successful in deceiving himself.

Bryce's return state – hair mussed, clothes not quite straight, and with a slightly goofy grin – did nothing to help Charles's state of mind. "Well?" Charles demanded, once they were safely in his office.

"Well what? I thought you had some big new idea to discuss."

"I do, but …. What happened with Sarah?"

Bryce sent a long, piercing look at his friend. "What do you care? You're married. Besides", he added haughtily, "a gentleman never tells."

"So you've said many times. Seconds before sharing inappropriate details."

"And every time you tell me you're not interested. What's different this time?"

"I don't know. It just is."

"Charles, are you seriously considering cheating on Jill? I would have never thought such a thing. And with my girlfriend? Tut-tut."

"It's not that… It's just…." Charles didn't know what it was. Maybe it was that and he just wouldn't admit it. The omission of the word 'cover' before girlfriend had hurt him more than he cared to admit, that much was certain.

"Well, it's something. I've never seen you talk about anything else this long when you've had a major insight before. Did you have a problem? We can fix it. Spill."

Charles relaxed with a smile. Science and technology were about the only things for which he had an uncomplicated passion. It was as natural and comfortable as brushing teeth for his mind to repress woman trouble and fall into the well-worn groove of hard facts. "Oh, well, I was thinking that when we fingerprint the images, we could simultaneously sort based on the chroma spectrum Fourier transform to speed the matching algorithm…"

For the next five-and-a-half hours, the two discussed options, potential complications, and the probable benefit if the idea worked as they thought it would. It was a miracle session – each potential game-killing roadblock morphed into yet another improvement in the overall plan. By the end, both were convinced the breakthrough was real and that they might exceed even the fondest hopes of their government employer.

Charles left in a buoyant mood. Typically, after a brain-burning session like he'd had today, he wouldn't even be able to sleep from sheer adrenaline and excitement. He was still excited, but it was tempered by more than the long commute through barely-moving traffic. It wasn't until he was nearly to his sure-to-be-empty home that he realized why. He had no one to share in his joy.

The time was, not that long ago, when Jill would have been waiting impatiently for him to return home, her temper warm but generally cooled by his effervescent excitement and liberal application of apologies. Longer ago, but in scenes he could still remember vividly, she would have been waiting, almost as giddy as he was. Her knowledge of his success used to make her happy. Now, recapturing those days seemed as impossible as his youthful dreams of being a comic-book superhero. For his home was certain to be as empty as Jill's heart had become.

Desperate for a friendly face, he sought other alternatives. Sarah's visage swam into his mind's eye view, with her face lit up in unadulterated job – a smile he had rarely seen but that he wished to see more often. But as his mind asserted itself, he saw the reason for her smile – Bryce holding her hand and petting her hair, offering to take her home. More images followed before he could wrench his mind away from the topic.

By this time, he was home and all his ebullient joy was spent. His "I'm home" was not immediately answered. A creak upstairs made his heart leap, but it was just the house settling. With only the breathing of Darth Vader to keep him company, Charles shed his work clothes, leaving on a t-shirt, boxers, and his gold watch. Climbing into the cold bed, he tried to recapture his earlier glee, but it was gone, leaving behind only a hollow echo and a dry memory of the technical specifications.

_As always, reviews hugely appreciated!_


	12. Trip Preparations

_As always, huge thanks to sharp for his beta. He did this a few hours before leaving on vacation. That's dedication._

**BarLar, Inc.  
October 25****  
9:03 a.m.**

Charles was in the home stretch of the project to automatically detect similar images embedded in picture files. The BarLar team had really outdone themselves this time. Everyone had contributed to the final program, though Jeff hadn't really had a chance to idiot-proof it yet, because it was still barely glued together. The pieces of code had been completed for over a week, but the final fitting of the pieces into an overall process was still being perfected.

Anna's brilliance and diligence had carried most of the load in gluing together the one-off pieces of code, transformations, and other bits they had written. Charles had been massaging and testing the few remaining difficulties. The testing and debugging of the entire process was essentially complete, but he was also verifying that he could feed it the images from Washington and that it would work correctly every time. Some parts of the process were actually randomized for speed, so it was essential to test multiple runs.

On another machine, he had simulations running on the efficacy of his program for larger datasets. The way the program scaled was Charles's masterpiece. The problem appeared to be superexponential, but the new technique Charles was applying seemed to make it only slightly worse than linear. It was a huge breakthrough.

Yet another machine held his academic paper in progress. He felt the breakthrough deserved some acclaim. A small part of him dared dream it would be sufficient for an honorary doctorate from a prestigious university, even though the field of interest was reasonably narrow. Explaining his ideas had never come easily to Charles and this paper was no exception. He'd already passed off much of the writing to Bryce, endlessly explaining certain very tricky portions to his friend, who would magically transform his random ramblings into clear prose.

This was Charles Irving Bartowski perfectly in his element – doing three things at once, all related and all highly technical. While it wasn't perfect joy, it was his "zone", as sports stars or others often say. He'd described it himself as zen-like or near-nirvana.

Few people could interrupt this state without upsetting him, though he very rarely let it show. John Casey was not one of those people. "Bartowski!" Charles jumped, as he was sure John had intended. Unexpectedly, instead of continuing immediately, Casey coughed a couple times, wincing in pain after each spasm. He looked strangely pale. "We leave for Washington tomorrow morning at oh-eight-hundred." With that, he started to leave.

Charles jumped out of his seat to chase after him. "Wait! What? Why are we going to Washington? How long are we going to be there?"

Casey turned with the look of a parent being annoyed by a small child. His speech was occasionally interrupted by painful coughs. "We are going to Washington because of orders. You are presenting on your work, which, by the way, you will **not** be publishing. I will be coming along to baby-sit you and make sure you don't get any boo-boos. Remember, oh-eight-hundred."

The coughing spasms made Charles look very carefully at his NSA protector. His normal ramrod straight posture was drooped. He looked weak and had small beads of sweat on his sideburns. Backing away, Charles asked, "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine." The disdain laced through his voice tried to lash like a weapon, but the slight quiver eliminated all the pain it could have wrought.

"I … I get sick really easily." Charles continued talking and backing away through the condescending snort and ensuing coughing fit from Casey. "I would really appreciate it if you got it checked out before we left."

Casey growled and rolled his eyes. "Wimp."

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
1:22 p.m.**

Charles couldn't concentrate. He was going to be presenting on his work to a group of experts and without his standard procedure of writing out every word and practicing it 50 times. He was going to Washington with John Casey, who had to protect Charles from nobody-knew-what. The BarLar executive had to tell Jill he was leaving again. Suddenly, there was too much to do and no time to do it. Instead of the practiced efficiency of the morning, he was a flurry of frenetic activity, racing this way and that, not getting much accomplished.

Distracting questions flew through his head. How long would he have to talk? What size group? Was it really fair to expect him to share all his hard work without any kind of reward and recognition? What would Jill say? Why couldn't Bryce present? Was he really expected to be with Casey the whole time? Where would they stay? Why didn't he have more warning? Should be use Powerpoint or something else? Could he even take a laptop with him? What should he wear? What all would he have to pack? When would he get it all done?

"Hey, Chuck. Can I get a copy of the code so I can run some tests on it?" Charles hadn't noticed Bryce entering his office.

"Sure. I just made a copy on a memory stick myself. Just grab the everything-dot-tar file in the main directory."

"Thanks."

Charles forgot the conversation almost before it was over.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
3:12 p.m.**

Casey returned to Charles's office, looking even worse for the intervening time. "More news, Bartowski." He spoke quickly through gritted teeth, but even that effort seemed to exhaust him. His knees buckled, though he didn't fall.

Charles was torn between wanting to help and wanting to stay healthy. As usual, others won out. He started towards Casey. "Are you OK? You look … well, pretty terrible."

"I'm fine." His appearance was the opposite of his words. "We'll be staying a full week at the Marriott. More tests for your recognition…" At that point, his eyes bulged and he vomited on the floor.

"Casey?" The executive was tip-toeing around the yellow-green pool on the floor with an expression of queasy horror. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"Nah, it's just…" Before Casey could say what it was, though, his remaining bit of color drained and he passed out, fortunately falling away from the pool of vomit.

Amazingly, Charles managed not to panic immediately. His first action was to call 9-1-1 and get an ambulance sent. Keeping himself together, he talked to Jeff and Lester about cleaning up the mess. He knew they had long experience with cleaning vomit out of the office carpet. Finally, he walked calmly into Bryce's office and asked him to call Sarah and inform her of Casey's condition and the planned trip to Washington.

Then he found a quiet corner and freaked out.

**

* * *

County General Hospital  
6:17 p.m.**

Ellie was frankly amazed. She had never seen so many infections so out of control in a patient. She had heard stories of such things, of course, where the patient lived alone and was unconscious for days before being admitted to the hospital. But to see it and to see a thermometer showing 105.3 were entirely new experiences for her.

Not that the amount of infection was the only curious entry on the chart detailing the case of John Casey. His list of personal effects was very disturbing. She knew she was going to be violating patient-doctor confidentiality, but this man worked for her brother. When it came to loyalties, Ellie placed family at the very top, even above her own career, not that she expected it to come to that.

When she left the ICU to enter the patient area, she found Chuck, Sarah, and Bryce waiting. It made sense Chuck would be there – he always cared for all his friends and employees and would sacrifice work for them. If he was as freaked out as his color indicated, Bryce had probably driven him. But Ellie could not puzzle out why Sarah Walker would be there. It could be support for Bryce, but it would be atypical for him to need assurance, let alone be willing to admit such weakness to a girlfriend.

"First," Ellie spoke in her calm doctor voice, "he is going to be OK. He has unchecked infections in his sinuses, his ears, his throat, and a possible case of pneumonia. Fortunately, they seem to be responding well to the Suprax we're giving him. But we will need to keep him for at least three days for observation."

"Second," she continued, overriding the questions she saw raising on lips, "the vomiting appears to have been caused by the irritation of mucus draining into his stomach. Frankly, I'm amazed he was still on his feet. The good part is that he shouldn't have been contagious for some days or even weeks, so you should all be safe." She saw the relieved glances pass between Chuck and Bryce.

"Three days? Is that absolutely necessary?" Sarah asked the first question. Ellie spared a thought to why that information would affect the blonde.

"Unless you want him passing out again or reverting to a worse situation with strains resistant to even more antibiotics, yes. And you would have to sneak him out of here. I will not release him."

An emotion Ellie couldn't identify flitted across Sarah's face before she excused herself to make a phone call. Ellie turned to her brother. "What was that all about?"

Chuck hesitated a bit before he replied. "Long story, but I have to go to Washington to present to her company. Casey was supposed to come along with me as security detail. They're a little crazy about that kind of stuff."

Grabbing his arm, the brunette doctor pulled her brother into a quiet area, leaving Bryce alone. The calm doctor was gone; the hysterical sister spoke. "A little crazy? A little? Do you have any idea what we found on him?"

"I could maybe guess," he answered drily. At Ellie's prompting eyebrows and head bob, he actually did guess. "Probably a couple guns and some knives."

"And?" She could see him think – almost literally see the wheels turning before he shook his head. Leaning forward, she whispered, "Syringes full of who-knows-what?"

Paling, he replied, "Syringes?"

She nodded, satisfied by his reaction that he was taking this as seriously as she thought he should. Ellie was more protective than the average big sister, because of the way their parents had disappeared. It was gratifying to finally be able to help him, instead of the helplessness she felt when viewing his marriage. "Are you sure it's safe to employ him? Can you trust him?"

"No, I'm not sure it's safe. But I don't really have a lot of choice. I do trust him, though."

Chuck always trusted everybody, it seemed. It mostly worked for him, though. She knew she had to let it go. Expressing her concern was all the further she felt comfortable going, at this point. It was hard, but the repercussions of his actions were his now. He was resolved in this decision, she knew. So she nodded. "I just worry about you."

"Thanks." His smile was warm and she felt reassured. He would be OK.

**

* * *

Los Angeles International Airport (LAX)  
****October 26  
6:38 a.m.**

Charles didn't know what or who to expect once he reached the airport. The last call he'd gotten from Sarah, the one which had awakened him at 11:12 p.m., had indicated that the trip was still definitely on as planned and that alternate safety arrangements were in progress. Of course, at that time in the morning, Charles really didn't expect much of anything. He was barely awake and feeling a bit foggy.

That was probably why he didn't immediately register the small suitcase standing between Bryce and Sarah, as they waited for him outside the baggage check lines.

Blinking away sleep (the taxi had been comfortable), Charles asked, "So what's the official plan?"

"I am to accompany you to Washington and take Casey's place."

Charles's excitement that Sarah was the new choice to accompany him was drowned with disappointment about the tone of her voice. "You don't sound happy about that."

Bryce answered in a syrupy voice. "She's not. She doesn't want to leave me alone."

"No, I don't," she said darkly.

While that remark could be interpreted in a variety of ways, Charles's mind latched onto one possibility and wouldn't let it go. The inevitable had happened – Sarah had fallen for Bryce. He just hoped she wouldn't be too angry, upset, and disappointed when she couldn't keep him. No woman ever had and that didn't seem likely to change.

"Shall we go?" He tried to muster a positive tone, but it was difficult. Inwardly, he blamed the time of day, while acknowledging that he was probably lying to himself.

Charles and Sarah quietly passed through the baggage check process. Charles had packed a large suitcase, while Sarah had to deal with the pain of changing the name on a ticket. Since she only had a carry-on, they finished at about the same time. They then joined the line to get to the actual gates.

"I don't suppose you can get me out of the security check, can you?" Charles asked hopefully. Sarah shook her head.

Bryce stopped her before they reached the line. "It wouldn't look right," he said, "if my girlfriend left without a good-bye kiss."

Charles couldn't tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding before him. Sarah smiled as Bryce took her into his arms. They gazed into each other's eyes and moved together for a kiss. It started slowly and chastely, but their mouths soon opened. As much as Charles hated PDA, he couldn't deny the artistry and beauty of the kiss.

He also couldn't deny the unfair jealousy that fired in his heart as he watched.

_We're getting very close to some of the parts of the story I've been dying to tell since I started this story. If you're excited, let me know (yes, that's a pathetic, desperate plea for reviews)._


	13. Fireworks in the Capital

_I sent a pre-alpha copy of this to sharp an hour before he left for vacation and he **still** managed to give me great comments/suggestions. What a guy! Also, thanks to wepdiggy for a final readthrough and helping catch a couple things and reassuring me that things weren't too hard to follow._

_I still own no part of Chuck nor of Subway, so I still get no financial reward from my stories, even indirectly.  
_

**LAX  
****October 26  
7:47 a.m.**

Sarah felt the warmth of Bryce's lips on hers long after he had left the terminal. Kissing and being left felt disturbingly comfortable and normal to her. It had started with her father's affection and disappearances and had continued through her training for the CIA. Missions only exacerbated the problem of being OK with kissing and being left.

Because, on some deep level, Sarah knew that she didn't like kissing and being left. It wasn't right, somehow. It was all she knew and it was comfortable, yes, but it sometimes felt wrong. This was one of those times. Actually, it was probably the strongest of those times.

She chanced a glance at Charles, who was standing nearby, as they were waiting to board the plane. Was he the reason it felt so off, she mused. It seemed possible but unlikely. Bryce was the handsome one, Bryce the one constantly making advances, Bryce the one she needed to protect. It didn't make sense that Charles appeared in her dreams – sleeping and waking – and Bryce did not.

They boarded the plane in comfortable silence. She was grateful for that. Bryce was always pushing for something, always testing. The last thing she needed in her exhausted state was more emotional games.

Their seats were a window and a middle seat together. Charles smiled at her in that adorable, abashed way he had. "Can I take the window? I love to watch." Smiling, she nodded. It was easy to sleep anywhere and hard to deny him anything he asked.

She watched in amusement as Charles pulled out an iPod, a Nintendo DS game system, a book, and a pack of gum from his pack. Her only extraction was a black sleeping mask. No agent was unused to all-nighters, but they always took their toll. Sleeping on the plane would help minimize that expense.

They sat down to wait. Sarah pulled her mask over her head to nestle around her neck. She started to get comfortable and relax, even with the seat straight up. Part of an agent's informal training was taking advantage of sleep any time it was available, regardless of the level of comfort or discomfort.

Before she pulled her mask up to cover her eyes, though, Charles spoke. "Bryce is a great guy."

"Oh?" In her estimation, only one great guy worked at BarLar and it was not Bryce.

"Yeah, I mean, he's handsome and suave and debonair. He's always gotten the best girls. It's just …." He faded out.

Sarah prodded gently. "Just what?"

"I … I just don't want to see you get hurt. Bryce is a great friend and all that, but I've picked up too many pieces of the women he's left in his wake. I like you and I … I don't want to see you hurt like that."

A series of emotions crested inside Sarah. The first was humor – Sarah Walker becoming so emotionally attached to a guy that she would be hurt when it ended could have been the punch line to a joke with her colleagues in the CIA. The next larger swell was appreciation at the concern being shown to her. Charles was putting himself on a limb for her, potentially risking a friend and colleague. The ripple of joy in his voicing feelings for her was almost completely hidden by the two large waves.

She turned in her seat to face Charles, who was already looking at her, trying to judge her reaction. "Thanks for the warning. But I'm a CIA agent. I'm rather used to very short-term relationships."

A tic showed on Charles's face as he considered her answer. "It's just…" He closed his eyes and took a deep breath before plunging in. "It's just that … that after you slept with him after your friend's death, I worried you might be falling for him. You wouldn't be the first."

"But we didn't –" slipped out of Sarah's mouth. A combination of tiredness and a seemingly-irrational need for Charles's approval had combined to betray her.

"You didn't?"

She shook her head. "It wouldn't be appropriate with an asset. I thought we'd been over that."

"I just thought …. Oh, well then…" A broad smile broke out on his face.

Sarah had never seen that particular smile before. Charles seemed to have an endless supply of different smiles, and he had really turned up the wattage this time, leaving her wondering what made this occasion special. Was it being away from his job? Leaving California? Being with her? The last was an interesting thought, since Charles seemed oddly devoted to his joke of a marriage and disaster of a wife. Sarah had flirted information out of men with much better wives, but it didn't seem possible with Charles.

His dedication to a failed marriage was only one facet of the enigma that was Charles Bartowski. Professional curiosity joined with personal desire and she resolved to use this trip to unravel much of that mystery. By the time they came back to California, Sarah wanted to know everything there was to know about the man next to her, gleefully looking out the window of the airplane.

Charles turned back to her and spoke again. "I should let you sleep. Sorry for the intrusion."

"It was sweet."

"Golly gee, thanks for making me feel like I'm eight."

Resisting a sudden urge to tousle his curls, Sarah pulled her mask over her eyes. Which mystery should she resolve first? An inevitable comparison with her cover boyfriend began as the memory of his good-bye kiss danced across her lips. Was Charles as good of a kisser? That was part of the mystery, wasn't it? Maybe she should find out. The thought intrigued her and played around the edges of her consciousness as she drifted off to dreamland, where the comparisons of Bryce and Charles continued.

**

* * *

Washington D.C. Marriott Hotel  
9:27 p.m.**

Sarah registered them with the hotel while Charles worked to get his bag through the too-small revolving door. He hadn't noticed the large door right next to the revolving door which was marked for customers with luggage. He'd simply followed Sarah and now was struggling with the small space and large suitcase.

By the time he managed to extricate himself, Sarah was finished checking in. She led the way, handing him a key. "Room 1517," she said as they rode the elevator to the 15th floor. Charles gentlemanly motioned her out of the elevator first, so she led the way to room 1517 and walked in.

Charles followed a little more slowly. "I thought you said this was my room."

"No, it's our room." His heart beat faster. This was a completely unfair situation and temptation. "Two reasons," she continued while he prayed they would suffice to convince him. "First, this trip was booked with Casey in mind, so only one room was reserved and they're out of rooms – some kind of financial workshop in town. Second, after the incidences surrounding you and your company, 24-hour surveillance is necessary. So we'd be in the same room regardless."

The room had two double beds, separated by a small night-side stand. At the foot of the bed further from the bathroom, a TV stood on the larger of two dressers. A small table and two chairs completed the furniture. The wall opposite the door had a large window but no outside egress. It looked to have been decorated in the 80s and never updated.

"So you're stuck with me," he said.

"I wouldn't say stuck."

"But you wanted to stay with Bryce."

Sighing, she replied. "He's my primary responsibility. I feel … responsible that he was left alone the day Morgan disappeared. I worry about him."

"Oh." Then his face brightened. "Oh. Do you worry about me?"

"Should I?" She had moved much closer to him.

"Maybe." His voice took on a slight teasing quality. "You know what they say people's number one fear is?" She shook her head, even though he suspected she knew and was just playing along. "Public speaking. It's worse than death. Maybe I should just step out the window." His voice was teasing, but his panic was real. This was the opening he needed.

"Don't freak out. Don't freak out." Charles repeated the mental refrain to himself as he psyched himself up to ask Sarah to come to the talk. His fear of speaking without meticulous preparation was exacerbated by the fact that he would know absolutely no one in the audience. The one and only technique that had allowed him to get through public speaking at Stanford was having Jill's face in the audience as a source of comfort – a place he could look to calm himself. He wanted to ask Sarah to play that role, but he hadn't been able to build up the courage to do it. It was almost his last chance.

"Stage fright?"

Just ask her, he told himself. "I'm … well, I'm nervous about the presentation. And, it'd really help…" He couldn't do it. She was too beautiful and too amazing and too talented to ask for such a mundane favor. But he really wanted to. He continued trying to psych himself up to ask her, though. He could feel the words on the tip of his tongue.

"I'm not much of a speaker myself, but I've always heard that the key is to picture the audience in their underwear."

"Will you come to the presentation?" Charles blurted out, almost on top of Sarah's words.

A beat passed while both realized what had been said. Then Charles started talking very fast, the words spilling out of his mouth. "I didn't mean I wanted to see you in your underwear. I mean, I'm sure it'd be great, because you have an amazing body and I'm sure you would look absolutely fantastic in your underwear. But, I just meant that I'd like you to come to my presentation so I'd have a friendly face in the audience. But I'd be looking at your face, not picturing you… I mean, of course, I've already pictured … I'm sorry. Could you just …." He finally stopped as Sarah's finger pushed into his lips.

"Stop." She said. "It's OK. I'd be glad to come." He was suddenly aware of the closeness of her body, the warmth of her skin, the nearness of her lips, and the heady scent of her perfume. And, was it his imagination, or were her cheeks slightly pinker than normal? Was the unflappable Sarah Walker affected by this?

"So you'll be there?" he breathed.

She sighed before answering, taking a step back. "I'll try. I can't guarantee they won't expect me to be somewhere else."

Charles nodded. "Thank you."

Charles claimed the bed nearer the TV and the two went about their nightly routines. It was hard for Charles not to be self-conscious, especially when Sarah came out of the bathroom in a tight tank-top and shorts for pajamas. It might have been his imagination, but he felt her eyes on him, while he finished his nightly routine in boxers and a t-shirt.

Sleep was not easy to achieve. Not only was the looming specter of his presentation haunting him, the image of Sarah Walker in her underwear was ever-present when he closed his eyes. Thinking of Jill only added to his frustration. The room was also too quiet.

"I miss my clock," he muttered to himself.

"What?" In the dark, he could hear the other bed shift, though he couldn't see Sarah at all.

"Sorry, just thinking out loud. I got so used to that darn alarm clock I got for my birthday."

Sarah laughed lightly before making respirator sounds. "First you ask about seeing me in my underwear and now you want heavy breathing? If I didn't know better…." She let the words trail off.

Charles's breath caught for a moment. Not for the first time, he wished he wasn't married. But he was. So all he said was "G'night, Sarah."

Her breathing was even and steady long before his was.

**

* * *

Secure Government Building****  
October 27  
10:00 a.m.**

He could feel his heart hammering against his chest. His mouth was a desert wasteland. The "small" group of experts filled the room, which looked more like an auditorium. Some rational part of his brain recognized that no more than 50 people were probably present, but that part was very small and feeble.

No less than General Beckman was introducing him and her words made his already shaky heartbeat falter even more. "This man has done things that you have told me were impossible. He has found patterns in printed images with embedded values. He has found shared embedded values across ten images on a standard computer in less than a hundred years. I have asked him here today to instruct you on the system you built and how to improve it."

Fear gripped him. Any normal person would be threatening mutiny after such an opening attack salvo. From where he was standing and waiting, behind a partially-closed door, he couldn't see any of their faces, but images of scowls, anger, and hidden daggers being sharpened filled his mind.

"Now, you are the experts. Test his technique. Try his methodologies. I want to be assured that he can do what he says he can. Without further ado, I would like to introduce Mr. Charles Bartowski."

Charles didn't think his knees would support him on the ten foot walk to the podium he could hide behind while he presented. He swept his eyes over the audience. Every eye was focused on him. Dark suits and intimidating hairstyles seemed to predominate, even among the women.

He thought he was going to faint when he saw her. Sarah Walker was sitting in the fourth row, exactly in the center, resplendent in a red blouse that was very different from what she'd worn as they drove in that morning. The smile on her face when his eyes alighted on her couldn't be answered by anything other than a smile. Growing smiles ping-ponged between them and suddenly he was at the podium, where a glass of water waited.

A small sip wet his dry mouth and he began to speak. While he spoke, his eyes occasionally roamed over the audience, but they only ever focused on the middle of the fourth row.

**

* * *

Washington D.C. Marriott Hotel  
11:58 p.m.**

Charles and Sarah entered room 1517, laughing gaily. Charles was speaking through a huge smile. "I can't believe you don't like olives."

"Why not?"

"Well, I love 'em. And I thought you were completely perfect."

"Me? Perfect? I'm not the one who dazzled an audience of ultra-geeks in their area of expertise."

"I dazzled them?" Charles sounded a little dazzled himself.

"Didn't you see their faces?"

"Not really," Charles admitted. "I was pretty focused on one person in the room." Remembering previous post-presentation parties, Charles was seized by sudden inspiration. He had to do something he hadn't done in years. He picked Sarah up and swung her around. "I can't tell you how relieved I was that you were there. That's the best I've ever presented." He set her down, but she didn't move away.

"I'm glad I was there, too." The words were soft and somehow intimate. The boisterous laughter disappeared in an instant. A delicious tension filled the room. "But I didn't do anything. I didn't even model my underwear for you." Far from being teasing, the last sentence was husky with emotion.

"You were there. That's all I asked for. You were there."

"And now?"

"And now you're here. And I'm here and …" But then Charles couldn't speak anymore, because her mouth was on his.

For a delicious few seconds, he kissed her. Charles hadn't shared a kiss with anyone in a very long time. He couldn't ever remember feeling the electricity he felt now, like all his hair was standing at attention. All his focus was on joined lips and her tongue inside his mouth and …

And he pushed her away. It was all wrong. "I'm sorry," he gasped, nearly crying. "I can't do this."

He turned away, took the two steps necessary to reach the table where his phone had rested all day. Snatching it up, he ignored the sounds behind him and dialed. As expected, no one answered, but he hit redial quickly. It was a signal for when he really needed to talk.

Bryce answered on the third ring, breathlessly. "What is it? It better be damn good."

Charles recognized that tone. That was Bryce's I'm-with-a-woman tone. But Sarah was here. His mouth started on its own, while his mind raced to catch up. "Bryce, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to, but I …"

He couldn't just blurt it out, could he? He could hear female mewling sounds in the background and the rustle of sheets.

"But you what, Chuck?" The last word held warning. What would Bryce be warning him about? Why would he say Charles's name so forcefully?

A new sound from the background behind Bryce suddenly became clear. With it came perfect clarity about the warning. The warning wasn't for him. Bryce was warning her.

Charles looked at the phone in horror. The phone continued to emit the sound of Darth Vader's distinctive breathing.

_

* * *

I can't tell you how excited I am to finally publish this chapter. And how drained I am by getting to this point. With vacation (it's my 15th anniversary coming up), the next update's gonna be a bit slower._

_As always, reviews/comments about the chapter are hugely appreciated.  
_


	14. Repercussions

_Once again, sharpasamarble provided a great beta, adding to the overall story and keeping me in line with regards to characterization. Huge thanks, as always._

**Washington Marriott  
October 28  
12:04 a.m.**

The last few moments had challenged every bit of Sarah's agent training. She was supposed to take in everything that was happening, comb it for danger, evaluate it for intelligence, and take action. She had spent a good portion of her life, even before she joined the CIA, doing just that.

Now, though, she stood and watched as events swept past her too fast to process. She went back in time to an anchor and decided she'd work her way forward from then.

The decision to kiss Charles had been spontaneous. They'd had so much fun at dinner and on the way home. He was an excellent conversationalist and she so rarely got to exchange in witty banter about anything other than sex. The question of his kissing ability had been on her mind since the flight out.

That question had been answered. Charles was not a good kisser: he was a kisser unlike anything she'd ever encountered. A good kisser made her feel good and channeled some energies a certain direction. The kiss with Charles had almost buckled her knees. She thanked her lucky stars that she'd never been kissed like that on a mission. It would have seriously endangered the mission.

It wasn't the physical sensations, really. On purely that basis, he probably wouldn't even have ranked in the top ten. The passion and other emotions of the kiss told the true story. It was almost like she could read his mind through his lips. He started surprised and confused. That quickly dissolved into her favorite part, passionate. His entire body had quivered with excitement and anticipation that couldn't be faked. Something deep inside her had reacted, too, but she couldn't quite put her finger on how or why.

When they had needed to breathe, neither broke the suction of their mouths, inhaling through their noses at the same time. Such perfect synchronization was rare and powerful. He'd pulled her close, not roughly, not demanding. It was a gentle tug, almost like he was afraid of what would happen. It was very sweet and felt somehow comfortable and homelike. She wouldn't have imagined the ideal kiss at all like the kiss with Charles, but its effect on her was undeniable.

But then he'd pulled away, pulled away from that kiss. She'd felt his reaction. She knew he was as absorbed by the kiss as she was. But he pulled away. And dialed the god-forsaken phone.

She didn't really hear the conversation. Her own thoughts and confusion were too loud to concentrate on anything else. Some remaining agent instinct noticed, though, that the conversation hadn't matched expectations. There'd been no yelling. No final "good-bye." Nothing. It just ended.

Putting her strange, powerful feelings aside and trying semi-successfully to shove them back into that box labeled "interesting but irrelevant", she looked at Charles. He was staring at his phone like it had turned into a snake and bitten him.

"What is it?" she forced herself to ask. Her voice was not as steady as she would have liked.

"I'm not supposed to kiss you. You're Bryce's girlfriend. So I called him to apologize." The words tumbled out in a chaos almost completely the opposite of how eloquently he'd spoken that afternoon.

"Wait. You called Bryce?" She put every ounce of incredulity and anger into that word that she could muster.

Cringing, he explained. "He's protective. And, well, you two act like boyfriend and girlfriend. I didn't think. I panicked."

"What about Jill?"

"Turns out I got them both in one call." His voice was bitter with fresh pain.

"What?"

His voice deadened now and he spoke to the floor. "I called his cell. He answered with his normal busy-with-a-woman voice. I know it well. I've heard it enough times. But this time, the more telling sign was the breathing in the background."

She wondered what breathing signified, beyond the presence of another person, which he already suspected. "Breathing?" She let her confusion show in her voice.

His eyes sought hers. "It was my Darth Vader clock. He's with Jill right now."

Betrayal that Sarah didn't know she could still feel laced through her. She thought she had immunized herself against all possible feelings of betrayal. So she sought the source of this pain. It wasn't Bryce's betrayal of her, she realized, because she generally expected that behavior from men. Men, from her father onward, had left her. No, it was Bryce and Jill's betrayal of Charles that was hurting her vicariously.

"Well, then we should …" she started angrily, but he cut her off.

"We should go to bed. Separately."

"But …." Bed was fine but not separately. Retaliation was on her mind.

"No. I'm as mad as you are, probably madder. But I want to look at myself in the mirror tomorrow morning and recognize the person I see."

Knowing the person in the mirror. That was an odd concept. But she couldn't push for what she wanted. Not now. She resolved to have an answer to one question before they left Washington, though. Why would Charles call her cover boyfriend before his own wife?

**

* * *

Sarah's Rented Audi A910****  
October 29  
7:39 a.m.**

The silence between Charles and Sarah was growing quite uncomfortable. Charles felt it most keenly, so he was the first to speak. "Do you know what we're going to be doing today?"

"My briefing papers said more recognition testing. Didn't Casey tell you about that?"

"No, was he supposed to?" Seeing Sarah's nod while she was driving, Charles continued. "Well, he didn't. He's not exactly the talkative type. Wait a second." His brow furrowed in thought, while she seemingly concentrated on driving. "Just before he threw up, he started to say something about recognition testing. But he never told me what."

They drove in tense silence for another couple miles. Again, it was left to Charles to break the silence. "Last night…" He trailed off, but Sarah didn't say anything. He couldn't detect any change in her demeanor, so he continued, "you, well, you kissed me." This time, she nodded but still didn't say anything. "Why?"

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered off the road and onto his face. "I don't want to talk about it."

No sense of finality laced her words, but Charles still couldn't get past the words themselves. Why didn't she want to talk about it? Was it his marriage? Was it a bad kiss and she was disappointed? It hadn't felt like a bad kiss. No, it had felt the way he'd always imagined kisses were supposed to feel – the way they had never felt with Jill, even in the really good times. He'd always blamed himself for that.

Charles considered himself a failure at relationships, mostly because of Jill. She had been his first serious girlfriend and things seemed so good for so long. And when things fell apart, well, he still didn't like to think about that. He waited for the agony to swell, as it always had before upon consideration of his marriage.

To his relief, the pain had lessened since the last time he'd mentally ventured into Jill territory. It could have been the passage of time. Or it could have been recent events casting doubts about his sole culpability for the current status of the marriage. Maybe he wasn't impossible to love. He clung to that notion.

The future had appeared bleak. Charles had been resigned to living life alone, even while married. Now, though, hope for the future, real hope, stuttered to life. Maybe he didn't have to be alone. The timing of his kiss and confirmation of Jill's infidelity coming at the same time might be a good omen. After all, if Sarah Walker would kiss him, well, anything was possible.

Unless it wasn't Sarah Walker's choice to kiss him. Maybe it was part of a mission. Charles didn't have a lot of experience with secret government agencies, but he suspected they were a very devious lot. Was Sarah's kiss nothing more than an attempt to bring him under the government's control? It was a mortifying thought, but he'd seen firsthand the way they assigned cover romances. He didn't think a mundane barrier like marriage would prevent them from using sex as a weapon.

Charles was so lost in his thoughts that sounds didn't fully register. But the sound had definitely changed. He looked up just in time to see Sarah's door slinging shut. The earlier positive omen was replaced by another thought. Were doors shutting on him in many ways?

He scrambled out and looked around. Charles saw the secure parking lot beneath the facilities where he had presented. The drive had completed without his awareness. Sarah was standing behind the car with an unreadable expression on her face. "I was starting to wonder if you were coming with me."

"Oh, I'm definitely coming with you. I'm just a little slow sometimes. Sorry about that."

She smiled. "I can be patient." They walked side-by-side to the elevators and the day's activities.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
11:00 a.m.**

Morgan glanced over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching as he typed "Irene Demova" into a bittorrent search. According to some sites, a new video starring his favorite actress was available. The download speed at work was so much better than his mom's lame rate, so it only made sense to use it.

With Casey the Hawk out sick and Chuck gone for the week, the mice were playing. It wasn't so much that Chuck intimidated him into doing actual work. It was just that he wanted to make Chuck proud. But, with him in Washington, that internal pressure was less prevalent.

Finding a file that looked likely, Morgan clicked to start downloading it. A moment later, Bryce came walking through the office, calling "I've got a sales meeting. I'll be back in a couple hours. Hold down the fort."

As soon as he was out the door, the four remaining employees assembled. "That was weird," Lester said.

"Yeah," Anna agreed. "He never says where he's going."

"Hold down the fort? What are we, paperweights?" Jeff asked his typical questions.

"Guys," Morgan looked around. "We finally have the place to ourselves. How are we going to avail ourselves of this opportunity?" He had a glint in his eye.

"Well," Jeff stated, "my good friends beer and gullet haven't been introduced in a long time." He checked his watch. "It's been over four hours."

"I'll help," Lester offered.

"Guys, guys! This might be our last chance to really mess around. Casey's always watching this place now. We can do _anything_." Morgan could see it now – a full-size Call of Duty landscape, complete with laser targets and his personal smoke machine. It would be epic.

"I've always wanted to see how comfy our executives' desks are," Anna offered, with a gleam in her eyes, purely for Morgan.

Thoughts of Call of Duty and weapons evaporated. "Do you think they locked their doors?" Anna jangled a key ring at him. "Ooohhh. … you do come prepared."

Jeff and Lester had already disappeared in their never-ending quest to kill every single brain cell. Morgan followed Anna toward Bryce's office, as she flipped her dangerously short skirt at him. Bryce's strange behavior had no hold on their minds.

**

* * *

Secure Government Building  
4:42 p.m.**

Sarah noted with some concern that Charles was massaging his temples again. It was not one of his normal habits. "Are you OK?" she asked. They were in a small office where Charles had been sequestered all day, with a new batch of challenge images and a specific set of cross-referencing to do.

"Just getting a bit of a headache. Something about these pictures does that to me sometimes." This was not one of the warning signs she had been told to look for, in her odd briefing this morning. It concerned her as both an agent and as a friend, however.

"Do you need to finish it all now?"

He turned to look at her, hope and fear warring on his face. "Did you have something else in mind?"

Now it was her turn to hesitate. "I … it's just not good to push yourself too hard."

"I'm almost done anyway." He pushed a few more keys on his computer and a series of six images flashed on the screen. "Frak!"

Sarah moved to stand behind him. "What's the matter?"

"It keeps me giving me these six images. But there are supposed to be seven."

Wanting nothing more than to rub his back to comfort him, she could only use words. "How do you know there are supposed to be seven?"

His shoulders slumped as he answered. "People keep asking that. The pictures are right there. See for yourself."

Sarah picked up the stack of roughly one hundred pictures and started leafing through them. They looked perfectly innocuous to her – buildings, children playing, sun-drenched fields of flowers, a cartoon turtle, a street sign, an old Beatles cover, etc. "I don't see anything."

"That's OK. Nobody does. But I know there are seven. I've even pointed them out to some experts. But I can't get the computer to find them."

Sarah perched cross-legged on a chair and settled in to watch Charles work. She'd studied his work habits and he rarely left when a job was unfinished. He'd been at work past midnight almost once per week since she'd started this particular assignment. This had all the appearances of another long night, so she got comfortable.

Charles spun in his chair to look at her. "What you doing?"

"Well, my orders are to make certain you're protected and accompanied all day."

"Are they?" She could hear the hint of a question within the question, but she could not fathom what it was.

"Yes. Since I know you tend to work late, I was making myself comfortable. Unfortunately, the food here is terrible."

"Well, what kind of protector would you be if you let me eat terrible food?"

"A not very good one, I suppose."

He looked at his watch. "We should still have time for a real dinner."

She smiled. "Let's go. Unless you're required to stay?" She let the hope that Charles wouldn't have to stay enter her voice, though only part of that hope was desire to spend time with him. Part of it was simply a desire to not be in an interior room longer than necessary.

It was his turn to smile, brightening the dim room. "Nah. I just hadn't had a better offer before. They don't really expect me to finish this today. Where are you taking me?"

"Oh, I have a few ideas, but what do you want?" They walked off towards Sarah's car, talking amiably about meals and other mundane topics.

**

* * *

Secure Government Building  
5:03 p.m.**

General Beckman watched the monitor as Charles Bartowski and Agent Walker exited the office and the building.

She turned to the two men in her office, who had also been watching. Much of their day had been spent watching the man from Burbank, California. "Opinions?"

"He is remarkable," Dr. Zarnow commented. "He appears to be able to absorb and retain all the information from the pictures almost instantly."

"And the headaches?" she prompted.

"Probably just overstimulation. I'd say it was a good sign – a natural reaction. Our experiments never noted unusual headaches. And he has already absorbed more than any of our test subjects."

"Director Graham?"

The black man spoke. "I'm frankly astounded by his abilities, given what we've been told. I urge caution on moving forward too rapidly, however. We need the algorithms he is developing, regardless of his … other abilities. That can't be risked."

Beckman nodded. "Agreed. We'll learn more tomorrow morning. Are you prepared, doctor?"

Zarnow nodded.

_That review button is calling you. Surrender to its temptation. Click. Review. You know you want to._


	15. Testing, testing

_Thanks to sharpasamarble for a great beta. Text, characterizations, artistry – he helps it all. Also thanks to kayla101blue for helpful comments._

**Washington Marriott****  
October 29  
7:23 p.m.**

The dinner and the drive to the hotel had flown by in a flurry of smiles, jokes, and relaxation. Sarah and Charles found that conversation flowed naturally, even while avoiding certain topics. However, the easy conversation ended when they entered their shared hotel room. It felt like entering the scene of a crime.

They had already been silent for a few seconds in the kind of comfortable silence that doesn't need to be filled. However, the silence stretched after they entered the room and all four eyes were inexorably drawn to the area between the two beds, the spot of floor they'd been standing on for the best part of the previous night.

In her mind's eye, Sarah could see standing chalk outlines, joined at the mouth. She wondered why it was a crime and who it might be a crime against. Certainly, neither Jill nor Bryce had made any effort to apologize that day and seemed to the perpetrators, not the victims. The only one who seemed bothered by it was Charles. Well, Charles and she, but she was only bothered because he was.

Some part of her mind recognized that connection as dangerous. She'd attended all the mandatory training on how agents weren't supposed to get emotionally involved with anyone they worked with, but she had essentially ignored it. Emotional involvement was so foreign to her that she barely recognized the concept. The ability to stop a growing emotional compromise remained far outside her sphere of expertise, which encompassed everything else.

Sarah Walker had faced imminent torture on a handful of occasions and had actually been tortured once. She'd faced assassins, turncoat government agents, and a host of evils in her young life. None of them filled her with the same fear and self-loathing that the prospects of a conversation with Charles did. She could ignore the issues. That was her natural instinct but not talking would hurt even worse than talking.

She brooded through her normally-comforting routine of stretching, showering, and other nightly rituals. Deliberately, she didn't don the oversized boxers she'd packed for the trip and exited the bathroom in her typical sleeping attire – panties and a tank top.

Charles was speaking to her as soon as she exited the bathroom. "I was thinking …"

The silence drew out again. "Yes?" she prompted, noting with amusement the way his eyes ping-ponged between her legs, her chest, and her eyes. The final destination was where Charles tried to keep them, but they strayed of their own accord. She consciously delayed turning off the overhead light, letting him look longer than was strictly necessary. No matter how many times it happened, it always felt good to be admired.

"Wh…what?" he stammered.

"You were thinking…" she prompted.

"That's right, I was." He withdrew into himself a moment. She could see the wheels turning. "I don't remember what I was going to say."

"That's OK." She wondered what it could have been: something about last night, concern about his sister, some esoteric question about his work, or something random coming from his relationship with Morgan. If it were important, she knew he'd mention it again.

He sighed. "Feel like some TV?"

Sarah took a little extra time climbing into bed, luxuriating in his eyes caressing her body even in the dim lamplight before she answered. "Not tonight. I'm kind of tired."

"Like I haven't heard that a million times before," he muttered back, before reaching between them and switching off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.

As much as Sarah enjoyed the feeling of approving eyes, darkness was better. In ways that no house or building had ever been, it was her home. She let the darkness wrap her in its cocoon of possibilities. Light was good for many things but its lack always sent its tendrils of infinite promise through her.

Seizing those tendrils, she spoke. "Charles?"

"Yeah."

"Can I ask you a question?" Even with the comfort of night, she could feel her heart racing.

"I guess so. You just did."

She smiled, even though she knew he couldn't see. "I mean, can I ask another question?"

"Again…"

"Fine." She drew a deep breath and took the plunge. "Why did you call Bryce instead of Jill? What's the deal with her anyway?"

For a moment, utter stillness filled the room. Not even the soft sounds of breathing were present. When Charles spoke, Sarah could hear her own tone from that morning. "I don't want to talk about it." It also had just the slightest of bitter undertones.

She supposed she deserved that response.

It had been difficult enough to bring up once. Pushing the issue was simply not something she could do. Exhaling a long breath, she said the only thing she could. "Night, Charles." She was asleep quickly.

**

* * *

**

**Sarah's Rented Audi A910****  
October 30  
7:40 a.m.**

Charles was amazed at how easily he put aside the questions and lack of answers from the previous day and night. In the full light of day, certain issues simply were off-limits. Those topics aside, the two were able to converse like they'd been friends for far longer than their limited interaction might suggest.

"You really like fruit for breakfast?" He couldn't imagine why someone would choose fruit over something that tasted good.

"I didn't used to. But, yeah, most of the time that's what I want."

"Most of the time?"

Charles could feel her appraising look before she answered. "Sometimes … sometimes I need some chocolate in the morning – croissants or something like that."

"Hmm…."

"Why? What about you? You can't tell me you eat Froot Loops every morning." They exited the car and started walking towards the heavily-guarded entrance to the building where they'd spent most of the last two days. Charles was expecting another day in an office working on perfecting the image-matching code.

"No, I usually want something sweeter." His response was automatic and out of his mouth before he even thought. He smiled ruefully and then sighed. "Jill doesn't like sugary cereal around, so I usually stash it at the office. Non-workdays, I generally end up with just coffee for breakfast."

"Why do you let …." She trailed off. They were skating dangerously close to thin ice. Changing direction, she concluded "… that stuff rot your body? Drop the Loops and just eat fruit. It really is good."

"You sure make the idea _look_ appealing." He liked to compliment her. It was so easy and the resulting smile lightened his heart every time.

"Try it once. It's better than coffee, that's for sure."

But Charles hadn't really heard her. He was standing with one foot still in the air, shocked into stillness mid-stride. A symbol drawn on the wall near the entrance door had captured his undivided attention. Something about it seemed familiar, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He tilted his head slightly to the right.

A cascade of images from the previous day paraded through his mind – a cartoon turtle, a messy office, a dragonfly, a bat'leth, and hand lotion. Suddenly, a smile lit his face. "Sarah, I know where we're going to dinner tonight."

"What?"

He gestured at the drawing. "Your hint worked. Thai Square tonight. And you had me believing you couldn't see the pictures in the pictures."

"What in the world are you talking about?" Her befuddlement was too genuine to be acting. At least, he thought he knew her that well.

"You didn't do this?" He pointed at the drawing again.

Sarah's phone buzzed, interrupting them. She answered quickly. "Walker here."

Charles could just barely make out the voice of Director Graham ordering them both to his office. Sarah nodded and started walking again, while he trailed in her wake.

"Any idea what this is about?"

The bantering tone in her voice was gone. Her response was clipped, in the tone he associated with all-business. "Nope." Sarah's forced pause at the deserted bank of elevators allowed him to catch up with her.

"Not even any guesses?"

Charles was pretty certain he detected a hesitation before her answer. "Not really." He just waited and looked at her, with one eyebrow cocked. She gazed back placidly, while the elevator climbed higher. Finally, about the twelfth floor, she visibly deflated and relented with "Well, one, but it's really none of your business."

"And my marriage is your business?"

She opened her mouth and then shut it again for a moment before replying. "That's …." She trailed off.

"Not the same?"

"Exactly." She smiled as she said it.

Charles thought about it. Sarah's question the night before was still weighing on his mind. As much as the thought of talking about Jill again caused him anguish, it was also very appealing to get another vantage point on the problem. He'd not really talked to any of his friends, mostly because he knew what they'd say. Bryce would talk about other fish in the sea. Ellie would tell him not to be their mother and leave. Morgan would be sympathetic but useless. Sarah, on the other hand, was an enigma and could potentially provide some interesting perspectives.

The elevator dinged to announce their arrival on the 22nd floor. Sarah subtly led the way as they started into the warren of halls. Charles started to voice his thoughts on trading information before he could think better of it. "What if…"

Turning a corner, Sarah prodded. "What if what?"

"Nevermind."

She shrugged and nodded in acceptance, before straightening back into strict agent posture. Two more steps and she stopped in front of a door that looked exactly the same as every other door in the entire building. It was like the place was designed to be confusing. As she knocked twice rapidly, Charles realized that it probably was.

"Come in."

Charles and Sarah entered a room dissimilar to the others they'd been in. First, it was slightly larger. One of the uniformly gray walls was dominated by a large TV. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a couch, facing the TV. The ubiquitous cameras were either better hidden or not present, though the overhead lights flickered like all the others in the building.

Director Graham and General Beckman stood comfortably behind the couch. A third man, no taller than the general, with sallow skin, dark hair, and slightly sunken eyes wrung his hands as they entered.

Graham was the first to speak. "Agent Walker, Mr. Bartowski, this is Dr. Zarnow." Sarah went to shake Zarnow's hand but he shied away from the contact. Noting this, Charles simply nodded at the man, who returned the gesture.

The director continued after the awkward greetings. "Dr. Zarnow is a specialist in human/image interaction. Before we get on with the rest of your day's activities, we would like to run a couple tests."

"Tests?" Charles's voice cracked. "I don't do well with needles." He felt for the doorknob.

The doctor's voice was surprisingly deep. "Nothing so drastic, I assure you. Just a simple clip on your finger, a few pictures, a video, some questions. All quite painless."

Charles was still apprehensive and looked to Sarah for reassurance, but she looked as confused as he felt. He fidgeted nervously on the couch, while the four government officials stood behind him. The exact same symbol as was outside the entrance appeared on the screen.

This time, the general spoke. "Tell us what you saw."

"Well, it's really a combination of five things. First, the menu for Thai Square, with the Kai Padprick Kraprao entry highlighted." Charles held up a single finger and ticked off additional fingers as he spoke. "Second showed a review praising said dish. The third item had a map to the restaurant, showing it not too far from here. Fourth, I saw a portion of Sarah's file which indicated Kai Padprick Kraprao was one of her favorites. Finally, today's agenda ends at 4:00. Putting the pieces together is very simple."

"Amazing," the doctor breathed, before straightening and asking in a business-like tone. "Is that all the detail you remember?"

"No, but it's the gist of it." He remembered the most from Sarah's file, because that seemed the most interesting. It was a tiny fragment of info, but it was still very titillating.

"Most impressive. Can you tell me the price of the Kai Padprick Kraprao?"

Charles thought a moment. "Nine ninety-five."

"Very good. Your recall is extraordinary. How about this image?" Another picture appeared on the TV screen. This one appeared to be an ordinary set of nail clippers with a distinctive logo on the front, but, once again, Charles's eyes fluttered and two other images superimposed over it.

"Why do you know Ellie's MCAT scores? What meaning does that have?" Charles was getting a little freaked out.

"Ellie?" asked Graham.

Sarah quickly explained. "His sister."

"Truly remarkable." Zarnow spoke while handing out sunglasses to everyone in the room but Charles. "We only have a couple more tests." He then spoke to the three experienced operatives. "Please don your polarized glasses for this next test." Putting his own on, he waited until all three had followed his instructions before pushing a button for the next part of the test.

Fifteen images blinked across the screen in under a second. The instant it concluded, Charles stiffened slightly and shook his head like he was trying to clear away cobwebs after a nap.

"How do you feel?" Zarnow asked, removing his sunglasses.

"Fine." Charles settled into a more comfortable posture on the couch. "I could maybe get used to being paid to just sit in an office and watching TV, but I prefer something more like Firefly to a series of random pictures."

"Excellent. Now, tell me, does this mean anything?" An image of a bumblebee on a flower appeared on the screen.

Charles looked but nothing immediately came to mind. "No, I'm afraid not. Sorry."

"That's OK," came the doctor's soothing voice. "And now?" A new image appeared – a farmyard with a barn in the background.

A becoming-familiar wave swept over Charles. "This building was originally constructed as an office for . When they went out of business, the government purchased it via a cover company and renovated it for secure use." He squinted a bit. "This room used to be part of a break room with a ping-pong table."

Silence reigned for a few seconds before Zarnow spoke again. "Very good." He took the monitor off Charles's finger and turned to his superiors. "I need some time to analyze these results."

Beckman spoke. "My office. Three o'clock." Turning to the others, she continued. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other pressing duties." Both Zarnow and Beckman left.

Charles looked to Sarah. "What was that all about?" he mouthed, but she only shrugged briefly. Graham, meanwhile, had walked around to stand in front of the television, where he could see both of them.

"Well, Mr. Bartowski, your progress has been exemplary."

Charles mumbled a "Thank you, sir." The director smiled.

"Your agenda for the next two days is pretty simple. Today, officially, you are to continue working on your advanced matching program, though all eyes are unofficially the other way if you need some time off. I must stress that Agent Walker be allowed to accompany you at all times, however. Tomorrow, you will be presenting your results to the CIA side of the operation at 10:00. Questions?"

Charles meekly put his hand in the air. He took the returned stare as permission to speak. "What was all this testing about this morning?"

"Sorry, that's classified. If there are no other questions…." There weren't. "Mr. Bartowski, please wait in the hall. I have something to discuss with Agent Walker." As Charles started to exit, he saw Sarah stiffen and Graham smile. "Don't worry, Agent Walker, I smoothed over missing your meeting Monday morning. That's not it."

Sudden comprehension and joy lit in Charles's eyes, but it was short-lived. At that moment, the director's phone rang. He put up an imperious finger, commanding Charles to stop. "What?" he barked into his phone. His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Say again." Then he hung up.

Turning to Charles, he growled, "Do you mind explaining how in the hell enemy agents gained access to your code?"

_Insert your own clever A/N asking for reviews here._


	16. Revelations and a New Mission

_Thanks to sharpasamarble for his great beta. I think each chapter is good when I send it and he makes them so much better._

_Oh, I still own no part of Chuck, even indirectly._

**Secure Government Building****  
October 30  
8:34 a.m.**

"I don't know, sir." Charles answered the question about the code leakage honestly and forthrightly. Sarah noted that fact with approval. "Maybe someone from the audience Monday wrote another version."

Graham cut him off. "I think someone gave them the code. I was at your talk. Nobody there understood a third of what that you said." A pained look flashed on Charles's face, Sarah noted, as did the director. "Not from the lack of details. It was just above their heads. Even if someone had understood, there's simply no way to code it all up in two days."

"Are you implying that somebody on my team gave away the code?" Charles's voice was level and noticeably restrained.

"It does seem to be a natural conclusion, yes."

"I have complete trust in my team, director."

Sarah read the honesty in his face, but privately wondered why. Her impression of the rest of the BarLar employees was significantly less than complimentary. In her limited exposure to them, they seemed like a bunch of screw-ups. Apparently, they had their moments.

Charles continued. "Most of them only had access to their particular portion of the code, anyway."

The director frowned. "If you have complete trust in your team, why only give them limited access?"

Grinning, the curly-haired man replied, "Maybe I should clarify. I don't trust them to not screw around with each other's code as a joke. But I do have complete faith in them to not spread our code around."

Sarah spoke up in his defense, with just a bit of harshness in her voice. "It's also possible that another raid was done on the office building, sir. If you'll recall, I argued that possibility before coming out here." About the only thing she hated more than being blamed for a screw-up by a superior was actually making a critical mistake herself.

Graham glared at her. "Orders are orders, Agent Walker. The most critical asset in the entire operation is Mr. Bartowski here." From the corner of her eye, Sarah saw Charles flinch a bit at being called an asset.

Charles sounded defensive and angry, if only barely. "I thought your job was making sure everything was secure. I just write the code. And, apparently, look at pictures."

Her director always kept his cool. It was one of the things Sarah admired about the man. "That's enough, Mr. Bartowsk. Now, I still have some issues to discuss with Agent Walker. Please wait in the hall."

Sarah waited for Charles's eyes and wasn't disappointed. He seemed to always be mutely asking her permission or getting her OK before acting. She just wondered what she had done to gain that trust. Her nod sent him out the door. Once it was fully closed, she turned back to her superior.

He wasted no time. "Three things, Agent Walker. First, don't ever pull a no-show stunt again." The words were simple but the anger in his eyes was real. Graham wasn't someone who needed to rant and rave to get his point across. Those simple words hurt as much as any lecture she'd received. Still, as she thought about the way Charles's face had lit up, she had no regrets and would make the same choice again, given the opportunity.

"Second, keep a very close eye on Mr. Bartowski. They may seem like harmless pictures to him. You and I know this is no TV show. You're still not authorized for a fuller brief, but this could be a complete game-changer. I've seen the way he looks to you for guidance. We need that trust. What I said earlier about looking the other way, well, you know we can't really do that. Still, not all the normal rules apply on this one." He hesitated for a second before continuing. "Walker, we can't afford to have this assignment end like some of your others…."

Her head snapped up. She knew previous partners had complained, but she was always successful. Her successful mission percentage dwarfed anyone else's, and they both knew it. "I can do the job." It came out a little more harshly than she had intended.

He studied her carefully for a moment. Seemingly picking his words carefully, he probed further, "I know you can do the job. I'm asking you to accomplish more than just 'doing the job' this time, though. It's obvious Bartowski relies on you. What I need to know is, can he trust you?"

Despite her efforts, Sarah knew her eyes danced around the room. From childhood cons with her father through CIA training to missions, she had learned to gain people's trust. Gain their trust and then stab them in the back. It was what she did. Memories of her past betrayals surfaced – Des Moines, Austin, Prague, Charlotte, and others. Doing otherwise went against who she had become. With Charles, at least, she felt motivated to try, motivation she hadn't felt since her teens.

Finally, she looked the man who had recruited her, her mentor and the man who had been her surrogate father for almost a decade straight in the eye. "I think he can, sir. It's weird, but …." She ran out of words and tried to let her face communicate her resolve on the matter.

"You can do this, Sarah." His voice was gentle and assuring.

She flashed him a wan smile. "Thank you. Now what was the third thing?"

"Oh, that's the fun part!"

They both were smiling in the few minutes it took him to explain. Then she left to do her duty.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar, Inc.  
10:42 a.m.**

Casey walked back into BarLar almost normally. Very few individuals could have detected that he was still feeling less than a hundred percent. Showing even that amount of weakness went against the grain, but he had already been absent longer than he'd wished.

The angry call he had received from General Beckman about missing code confirmed that opinion. It only stood to reason that without him being an active part of things, everything would fall apart. The CIA and the idiots in the building seemed barely able to tie their own shoes, let alone protect information.

Grumpily, he sat down at his computer and accessed the log of outgoing data from every single BarLar computer. One of the first things he had done on the assignment was to put a small present from the NSA onto every machine. It tracked all file copies to external devices and outgoing Internet messages and sent that information to his computer's log. He started scrolling through it, looking for any possible leaks of the code.

After an hour's search, his leads were still minimal. Portions of code had been copied to USB devices by nearly every employee on more than occasion during the days prior to Bartowski's departure, but they didn't seem out-of-the-ordinary. The log showed similar activity going back to the time Casey had started.

His first break came as he noted that Charles had made two copies of the entire codebase a couple hours apart before departing for Washington. Casey knew that Bartowski was meticulous and it would not be unusual for him to make a back-up copy to take. The time between the two file transfers seemed off, though. If he wanted two copies, why not make them both at the same time? Since the entire codebase had been copied, these transfers demanded special attention.

Continuing to work on his computer, Casey scanned through the data transfers during the days of his absence. It was filled with a lot of out-going traffic but most of it was simply surfing for porn or cheap ways to get intoxicated. The only potential leak during those days was a small portion of code that Lester had emailed. The address was one Casey recognized as a secure account belonging to the BarLar CEO, so it was unlikely to have been stolen that way.

Scowling, the NSA man ceased his electronic investigation and went to physically inspect the premises for signs of a break-in. His security measures hadn't detected anything unusual, but he knew better than to blindly trust automated measures.

Paranoia paid again. His physical telltales on the doors to both executive offices had been disturbed. The ones in Larkin's office weren't a surprise, since he was in town. An inspection of the lock on the door to Bartowski's office showed no signs of a pick being used, which meant the infiltrator either had a key or was a true expert.

Additionally, several of the computers in the office appeared to have been opened in the last couple weeks. Multiple personal computers as well as the office-wide server had broken holographic seals, indicating that the cases had been opened since he'd last checked them, just over a week ago. His own computer showed no signs of physical tampering, at least.

Casey ran a hand over his face. Too many leads were worse than not enough leads. He would have to start narrowing them down quickly to get Beckman the answers she had demanded.

**

* * *

**

**Secure Government Building  
3:10 p.m.**

Charles sat back in his seat and stretched. Most of the time, when a technical problem stood in front of him, he was energized and could barely sleep until it was solved. It had been years since a problem like the image matching one had failed to capture his interest.

As he stared at the screen in a desultory manner, he tried to remember when that had last occurred. It was back in college. Since then, he couldn't remember a time when he'd been less interested in resolving an engineering issue. He could remember less success and more frustration but never less interest.

Turning to Sarah, he appraised her for a moment. She was sitting quietly on the floor in a lotus position, with her legs folded in a way that his simply wouldn't bend and her eyes closed. Her dress pants provided plenty of room and her shoes were neatly placed nearby. Very shortly after he turned to look, she opened her eyes and looked back at him placidly.

She had been with him nearly constantly throughout the day, never in the way but rarely offering more than a supportive smile or commiserative shrug of her shoulders. It really was conducive to good work, even though he occasionally felt like a small child with an overprotective mother. It was still better to have her watching than to know cameras were recording everything for anyone to view.

Charles spoke carefully, judging her reaction. "Were they serious, what they said earlier?"

"Hmmm?"

"About leaving early. Would it really be OK?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Since he went out of his way to say that it was unofficially OK, I have to think it would be."

"I can't seem to get the idea of noodles out of my head. And maybe ice cream afterwards."

"Too bad I'm forced to accompany you." Her voice was as full of smiles as her face.

"Forced? Will it really be so bad?"

"I'm sure I can suffer through it."

"Me, too," he answered.

The two of them playfully and very obviously 'snuck' out of the building on what Charles refused to call a date, even in his own mind.

**

* * *

**

**Washington Marriott  
9:47 p.m.**

Some instinct told Sarah to pause on her way into the bathroom for her evening shower. While her instincts weren't always right, they had saved her life a couple times and rarely endangered it. She listened to them without conscious effort, even when they came at such an unexpected time.

Her mind searched for potential threats. The door was bolted and chained shut. Was the sound different? Charles was in his normal relaxed position on his bed, leaning back with his hands behind his head. As usual, he was still dressed in his work clothes except for his shoes, which he had kicked off long ago. The TV wasn't on, however, and he was simply staring at the ceiling. Normally, he had the TV on, ostensibly watching it while peeking at her cool-down stretching exercises. That break in their now-comfortable routine convinced her to hesitate, hand on the handle to the bathroom, not pushing down to unlatch the door.

If it weren't for her heightened alertness, she might have missed the soft words coming from Charles's mouth. As it was, it took her a moment to process. "Jill wasn't always like this, you know."

She stood silently, hardly daring to breathe. Charles was opening up to her. Half-formed hopes about a revelation that night had accompanied her through the entire enjoyable evening, but she had expected him to wait for darkness first, as she had needed it the night before. He hesitated for a few seconds. Was he waiting for something? A response? If a response was required, she wasn't sure she could come up with the appropriate one. Fortunately, none was – at least, not yet.

"We were really in love. At least, I was in love with her and it sure seemed like she was in love with me. We did everything together. And it was all so much fun, whether it was our first kiss on a Ferris wheel or playing video games together or even just talking. It was almost magical."

He jerked to a sitting position and turned to look at her, then. "She was my first real love. Do you remember your first love – the first guy you loved that was somewhat interested in you? Of course, look at you, you probably had to beat guys off with a stick." He fell back and studied the ceiling some more.

Sarah could not relate to what he was saying. In high school, the only thing she received were jeers and taunts. Agent training involved literally beating guys off with a stick, but it left no energy for romantic endeavors. Sure, she'd been hit on a number of times since then. But a first love? Only one person came to mind, but she didn't dare voice it out loud. It would sound too silly. Unbelievable, really. She made a few indistinct sounds, but no real words.

"It doesn't really matter. We were young and in love. I proposed to her on graduation day. I was waiting on one knee as she walked down the stairs from the stage. She had her diploma in one hand when I asked for hand in marriage. She didn't hesitate at all and just said 'Yes' with this big smile on her face." A wan smile crossed his face, which Sarah was now studying, though she still had one hand on the handle to the bathroom.

"We got married at 22 and everything continued to be fantastic, for a while. She was working for a pharmaceutical company while I tried to get BarLar off the ground. She was so supportive. I'd get home late and she'd be at the door to meet me, sometimes barely dressed. 'Get your dream', she used to tell me."

His voice was starting to get quite choked up and Sarah was starting to struggle to understand all the words, but she still clung to the bathroom handle, afraid any movement would destroy whatever magic had him speaking.

"When our first major product was getting close to being shipped, we hit a major snag. It was just me, Bryce, and Morgan at that point. We had a deadline we had to meet. If we missed it, we were going to lose our funding. Three weeks to go and we lost everything in a power surge and power outage. We backed our stuff up but it didn't help. Everything fried. All our code."

"Jill was amazing. She said to do what I needed to do to make the deadline. We hired Anna and Lester and Jeff to try to get it done. I practically lived at the office. Hell, we all did. I still tried to at least call everyday. But that's when things started going downhill. Sometimes she wasn't there when I called, even late in the evening."

"I wanted to talk to her, find out what was going on. But we had that damn deadline and I put that first. It's all my fault." Tears were streaming down the side of his face now. Sarah could see each tear as it pooled in his ear and then dribbled down into his hair and onto the bed.

After some deep breaths, he continued. "When we finally shipped, mere minutes before the deadline, I called Jill to see where she wanted to celebrate." He sat up again and focused on Sarah through his tears. "It was weird. She said she didn't care. But she didn't sound happy. I tried to assure her that meant I'd be able to spend more time home again, but she wasn't excited about that at all, either. I drove her away."

"In three weeks?" Sarah barely trusted her voice. She felt tears of her own brewing, but she kept her face impassive.

"Yeah. Oh, we tried for a while after that, or at least I did. I did everything she wanted, including asking people to call me 'Charles'. I waited on her every need for weeks, letting BarLar struggle without me. Our next critical date wasn't for a few months and I put Jill first. It didn't help. She started working late – or claiming she was working late.

"She did agree to a weekend away together. We were going to go into the mountains, just the two of us. I prepared everything – packing her favorite things and researching restaurants and arranging for flowers. I'm not so good in the romance department, but I poured everything I had into making that weekend great." His voice held horror, anger, amazement, and a host of other emotions. "She canceled at the last minute. I couldn't even get her to tell me why.

"I pretty much went into a shell after that, not talking to much of anybody. Ellie was the first to notice and she talked me into going to counseling. Again. Jill refused to go with me, though I barely saw her enough to ask. She was just never home. And she almost never answered her work phone."

Silence fell on the room. Sarah wondered why he had shared all this with her instead of Morgan or Bryce or Ellie. It didn't make sense. She definitely wanted to know and was fascinated, but he had said just last night that he didn't want to talk about it – a sentiment she completely understood.

"I guess … I guess I kinda knew she was cheating on me. But I used to still have hope that she did at least still love me. But it's gotten to the point where about the only time I see her is for family engagements. She avoids time with just the two of us like the plague. Not that I can blame her for that too much. I mean, even a car ride with her has become very uncomfortable.

"It's not just Bryce. It can't be. There have been too many times where he's been away or I know he's working when she's been gone. Times I've been with him and I know she's not home. I don't know."

Charles had seemed to run out of words. Then Sarah mentally corrected herself – he never really chose to be Charles. 'Charles' was something that horrible woman had forced upon him. Despite his earlier instructions, he became Chuck to her at that moment.

The enormity of the situation swam into Sarah's consciousness. For the first time, someone had shared something intimate with her, but not because she had expertly pried it from them, using all her training as an agent. Chuck had shared with her because he honestly trusted her – the person, not the agent.

Charles's trust in her frightened her – it came with responsibilities well beyond her comfort zone. It demanded response, but Sarah wasn't sure what response a truly trustworthy person might give. Her training and experience had taught her how to encourage trust. She decided to use those techniques as a starting point and feel her way from there. The whole prospect was not easy or comfortable, however. At least her own desires, her training, and her orders were all aligned at this point.

The first joint decision demanded immediate action. Finally releasing the bathroom handle, she walked over between the beds and squatted down so that her head was on the same level as Chuck's. His eyes never left the ceiling as she crossed the room. She gazed levelly at his face, waiting until his eyes were locked on hers – good agent technique and the best way she knew to show her true sincerity. Talking his left hand in both of hers, she said the only words she could. "Thank you, Chuck, for trusting me with this." Inwardly, she sincerely hoped to someday be worthy of that trust.

She worried a bit because her untrustworthy feelings and agent training had agreed on another response. Nobody messed around with Sarah Walker's friend without paying the consequences. Personal missions were dangerous, she knew, and this was the first one of any consequence she had ever given herself. Chuck's revenge enacted through her would have to wait. Sarah let her eyes swear to Chuck that Jill would live to rue her desertion of him.

_

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	17. It's Hard to Say Goodbye

_Thanks to sharpasamarble for his beta and a BIG thank-you to NotoriousJMG who also helped beta this chapter._

**BarLar Inc.****  
October 31  
10:13 a.m.**

Day two of his investigation into the potential leakage of information from within BarLar was off to a slow start. Casey could have altered his order, but the book recommended a certain method of proceeding, and he had learned to trust the book, especially when still in semi-painful recovery. So he waited impatiently for his first mark.

He carefully marked Jeff's entrance into the building. The other man's attempt to sidle innocently by his workspace was unsuccessful. Casey looked up and motioned for him to come over. Jeff looked around briefly before making a "who, me?" gesture with a look of confused incredulity on his face. Casey's sneer and grunt brought him scampering over.

"I need your help," Casey said without preamble, assuming with good reason that beating around the bush would only confuse the other man. He needed information quickly, even if meant setting a couple low-level fires on some bridges.

"What are you talking about?" Jeff asked in what he must have thought as a sly manner, though it almost sounded like he was trying to be seductive.

Mentally repressing a shudder, Casey's return whisper was conspiratorial. "I need to get into Bartowski's office to … uhhh … investigate some things. Can you help me?"

"Don't you have keys?"

"Yes, but we can't use **my** keys. Everyone will know it was me, then."

Jeff nodded, as if that nonsense explanation made perfect sense to him. "I'd like to help you, but the new locks you put in are pretty good. I think Anna has a key, though."

"Thanks, man. I owe you one. Keep this under your hat, alright?"

A blank stare was his only response.

**

* * *

**

**Secure Government Building  
1:56 p.m.**

Charles was almost as nervous as he had been a few days ago. Apparently, the rumor mill worked, even at secret agencies. While his imagination had hundreds of people in attendance for his first presentation, only thirty-four had actually attended. Today's room was much larger and much more densely packed than the other had been.

Earlier in the week, it had only been his imagination that had an auditorium-sized room packed to capacity. Today, it was reality. Charles's trepidation about presenting had been lower, since he had successfully presented it before. However, the dramatic uptick in audience size had brought doom and gloom back to his heart. Larger room, more packed meant only one thing – more nerves to fight.

Two similarities between the rooms stood out to him: the material he was going to present and his location prior to presenting. He was again waiting off in a small side area, where no one could see him and he could only see a little. It appeared to be used as a storage area, with shelving and a few old-fashioned projectors occupying about half the space in the small room.

This time, he wasn't waiting alone. A smiling Sarah Walker stood with him. "I thought you were going to be in the audience again." It wasn't really a complaint, but he did wonder why she hadn't taken her seat already.

"I have a seat being saved for me," she said, reaching out to straighten his tie for what must have been the third time. Each time, after she fussed with the knot, she ran her hand down his chest, straightening the entire tie. It felt awfully good, but it didn't help his focus.

"So, then, why are you here?"

"The director asked me to wait with you." Charles opened his mouth, but she cut him off. "It's not my place to say anything more than that."

"As if I didn't have enough on my mind," he grumped pleasantly.

Smiling back, Sarah commented, "You relax when you're thinking about something besides presenting. I debated just standing here in my underwear, but I'm not wearing any."

"You're what?"

"Teasing. Just keeping your mind occupied."

Of course, thinking about being distracted snapped Charles's attention back to the auditorium, where Director Graham was just starting to address the gathered scientists. "I see from the turn-out that you have all heard about our next presenter. He comes from outside normal channels, but his work speaks for itself. Due to the sensitive nature of the information being presented, no notes or video will be allowed during this presentation. I apologize for that inconvenience."

Charles breathed a sigh of relief. Talking to an audience was bad enough but his one and only experience in front of a video camera involved regurgitation, fainting, and other unpleasant details best forgotten. So intent was he on this memory that he almost missed the next words.

"Before we begin, let me give you a little history about Dr. Charles Bartowski. Dr. Bartowski received his undergraduate degree from Stanford University in …" Graham continued but Charles stopped paying attention.

"What is he doing? I don't have a doctorate." Panic seeped into his voice.

"You don't?" Sarah's tone of voice was teasing. He turned to look at her. Holding his eyes with hers, she reached over to a shelf and pulled off a full picture frame. "Then what's this?"

Charles took it warily and read it aloud. "By authority of the Board of Trustees of the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Charles Irving Bartowski has been admitted to the Degree of Doctor of Philosophy and is entitled to all rights and honors thereto appertaining. Witness the Seal of the University and the Signatures of its Officers this twenty-ninth day of October, two thousand eight.

"Sarah, this is amazing. How did you … why …"

"CIA magic. But it wasn't me. I'm just the delivery girl." Her broad smile lit up the entire room.

"It can't be real." I don't deserve this."

"A roomful of scientists, multiple MIT professors, and the directors of both the NSA and the CIA happen to disagree. We know you wanted to publish this work, but it's too sensitive. Think of this as a peace offering."

"It's real then?"

"Genuine article."

"Wow!" he breathed. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now, I believe you have a presentation to give, so let me take that off you." She grabbed the framed diploma back and exited into the auditorium, where Director Graham was just completing his introduction. With a large, goofy grin on his face, Charles walked in to give his presentation.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar, Inc.  
2:41 p.m.**

Casey walked into Lester's cubicle, wearing a slightly sheepish expression. "Lester, is it? Do you know how to fix a computer? Mine is making funny sounds."

"Are you kidding? I take apart computers for fun. Why, this bad boy," he tapped his computer tower, "spends a lot more time with a cover off than with a cover on." Lester's voice took on a throaty quality that made Casey want to throw him out the window. "Because, you know, when you have something as good and as hot as my machine, you can't cover that baby up. It's gotta be free to breathe."

"Oh, yeah, I can totally understand that." Casey forced his voice to mimic Lester's. "But it's not the only hot machine around. Do you ever get the urge to check out the other fish in the sea?"

Lester moved away from his computer tower, as if frightened it would overhear. "Well, you know, there's nothing I like more than opening up a new, strange box and seeing what goodies are inside. Different sounds and looks and smells. It's all so delightful." Lester shivered in memory and licked his lips. "So, yeah, I've been known to stray, but, good god, man, I'm only human!"

The sick and twisted were not new to Casey. It still took concentration to continue his search for information. "Do you ever … you know …." He looked around for eavesdroppers and lowered his voice to a whisper. "… take a computer by force? Open somebody's box without their knowledge?"

"That, my friend, is a true pleasure indeed. Sometimes, late at night, I can hear their siren's song."

Nodding sympathetically, Casey walked away, his true task accomplished. He hadn't even needed to sabotage his own computer, though he'd leave the screw loose for another day, in case Lester came asking about it. Pumping the employees for information was easy. Unfortunately, the information they were providing was not helping. Internal interference could have caused all the physical tampering he'd found. At the very least, it effectively hid any external sources.

On the one hand, he knew that the facilities had been attacked before and that they were still not as secure as he would like. That went double for when he wasn't there, whether Walker was around or not. He could not be assured that they had been attacked again, however, and that bothered him.

It had been easy to verify that Anna had working keys to the offices of both Bartowski and Larkin. Evidence indicated that she had probably used them while he was away. Lester's confession would explain the broken seals on the computers. Jeff's behavior was consistent with that of a person hiding something. He was getting nowhere.

His instincts were at war, which he hated. He had the sense that some people who didn't belong in the BarLar executive offices had been in there. Something just felt wrong in the suites. On the other hand, he had not been able to find any hard proof of a break-in. The change in M.O. also argued against a break-in, though true professionals changed their behavior as a matter of habit.

His instincts also told him that something was amiss with at least one of the BarLar employees, more than the simple fact that they were all certifiable. It was like they were all hiding things from him, even worse than what they'd confessed to. It made no sense and frustrated him to no end.

Going back to his office, he began to organize his investigation's facts, feelings, and faults. No solution was on the immediate horizon. That didn't mean he wouldn't discover and plug the leak, though.

**

* * *

**

**Secure Government Building  
4:18 p.m.**

The questioning was winding down on Charles's presentation. Director Graham had joined him at the podium to discuss future plans for his work. An unidentified voice from the back called out "I've heard you can see and retain the sub-images in printed versions of pictures. Is that true?"

Charles hesitated a fraction of a second before Graham answered. "That's ridiculous. No one can see the sub-images. You've all proven that before, right?"

Charles furrowed his brow at that, but his expression cleared quickly. Two more brief questions followed and then the director called an end to the meeting. He stayed with Charles while most of the audience filed out doors in the back. Only Sarah came down to join them in the front of the room.

Director Graham invited the two of them back to his office. On the way, Charles started to ask "What was…" but he was cut off.

"We'll discuss it in my office."

They walked in silence until they reached Graham's office, which looked the same as it did the previous day, though Charles could have almost sworn it was in a different location.

Graham entered first and sat behind his desk. He gestured at two seats and then steepled his fingers while they sat down. Gazing between his fingers, he looked at them carefully. "Our investigations into the code leak have indicated the existence of a rogue organization named Fulcrum." He paused a moment, as if looking for a reaction to the name. Charles stared back blankly and Sarah was stone-faced beside him. Seeing no overt cover-up, the director continued. "The less they know about Mr. Bartowski's abilities, the better we are. In fact, it's probably best not to mention your ability to find images without a computer to anyone outside this room."

Sarah nodded crisply, as if everything made perfect sense to her. Charles, on the other hand, felt a sense of annoyed confusion growing to cover the relief and deflation of the presentation being over. "Is there a list of things I can and can't say? Some kind of general guideline that you've glossed over in my non-existent spy training?"

"When in doubt, say nothing." Graham's voice was firm. "And, if not in doubt, say as little as possible."

"Why?" Charles thought for a moment. "Is this some kind of competitive thing, where they'll post nasty things about me on the CIA message boards? Or put insulting symbols on the door where I'll flash and be embarrassed?"

The director's eyebrows tightened. "No, more like they'll come after you with a gun and force you to work with them until they decide to kill you."

"Oh, that kind of better. Thanks for the clarification." Charles felt a shiver pass through him, from the back of his neck all the way down to his toes.

The director frowned. "We've suspected that all along. Were you not aware?"

The computer nerd swallowed hard. "Not really. Not in those clear of terms, at least."

Putting her hand on his, Sarah reassured him, "Don't worry. We'll take care of you. No one will hurt you."

"Yes, let us worry about Fulcrum. The only thing I want you to worry about is your matching algorithm. We are looking for two additional improvements. You said it's not 100% accurate. We want it as close as possible. Continue to work on that."

The other man continued as Charles nodded. "Second, we want you to start working on a hardware module to improve performance. Its codename is CIPHER." He cut off as Charles unsuccessfully stifled a snort. "Problem, Mr. Bartowski?"

"CIPHER? I thought spies would use some cool code name like 'Orange Lego' or something. CIPHER sounds so … mundane."

Graham's glare stopped any further interruptions. "In two weeks, I want preliminary cost estimates for doing matching across tens of millions of embedded image files, with sub-second response time."

Charles felt his eyes widen and his jaw drop. "Tens of millions?"

Graham's steely gaze lingered on him a moment before it turned to spear Sarah. "Agent Walker, you will work with Agent Casey to increase security at BarLar. Trace every bit in and out that place. I want answers on how this code leak happened. At all costs, the CIPHER must not fall into Fulcrum's hands."

"Understood."

"Dismissed."

Charles and Sarah got up and exited the room. Charles felt awash in the sea of instructions and priorities. Hardware was not his team's forte. Confirmation of agents potentially pursuing him fed his fear. The degree still felt surreal. It was too much to take in at once.

His rock of reality all trip had been Sarah. He wasn't sure what question he was going to ask first, as so many were cascading through his mind, but he craved reassurance from her. However, as he turned to her, she appeared as adrift as he felt. Stifling his questions, he let her ruminate while he did his own deliberations.

**

* * *

**

**Casey's Apartment  
8:15 p.m.**

Casey sat in front of a computer in what he referred to as his sleeping quarters. The dim light showed a well-maintained apartment with miniature bonsai trees, numerous Ronald Reagan pictures, and a bulletin board filled with various newspaper clippings. He was just finishing giving Beckman the bad news about his inability to definitely determine how the code was lost, at the current time.

The general icy voice filled the room. "Are you incompetent now, Major?"

"No, ma'am." The chewing out was inevitable. He let it wash over him like a cold rain: a slight bother but nothing more. "But I believe the employees at BarLar are. They couldn't have been more detrimental to the investigation if they had tried."

"Do you think they tried? Have they deliberately pulled the wool over your eyes? Made you think they're inept as a cover?"

Casey considered it momentarily. "I don't believe so. Hitting the security cameras, opening computers, going into locked offices. I think it's just the way they operate. It'd be so much easier if we just got rid of them." He cracked his knuckles.

"Maybe after the operation is over, but don't do anything to upset the working environment at BarLar. Do whatever you can to secure the premises. Install additional cameras. Put additional safeguards on the physical computers. Just do it inconspicuously."

"Inconspicuously?"

"Yes, major. Do not disturb the work environment. The seriousness of the situation might cause a scare. Additionally, if there is a mole in the organization, obvious new measures will change his or her pattern. I want answers, but we need the work being done at least as much."

Casey nodded. "Yes, general. Anything else?"

"Don't get sick again." She blanked the screen. Casey massaged his face. He had a lot of long days ahead and his head was still pounding.

**

* * *

**

**Washington Marriott  
10:33 p.m.**

Their last night together in DC started like so many others. Sarah followed her now-familiar routine of exercise and stretching before entering the bathroom to shower. Charles had a few minutes before she would reappear and the night would be nearly over.

It was odd, but even with the threat of enemy agents pursuing him, the hair-raising presentations, and other ways his life had turned upside down, the hotel room felt more comfortable and home-like than his house in the suburbs. It was definitely not a normal vacation, but the emotions surrounding the trip were eerily similar to that kind of recharging exhilaration.

Before it was over, Charles wanted to know a few more things. Sarah wasn't exactly the easiest person to pry information from, but he had a few theories on that very subject. It was amazing how much he felt he knew about her already, despite the barriers she put up. He hoped to learn even more before the night was over.

Sarah's exit from the shower, clad in unfairly skimpy panties and a tight tank-top heralded the time to put one of his theories to the test. Despite the relatively early hour, he turned the TV off and rolled over to face her. It was quite enjoyable watching her climb into bed, and she seemed to enjoy the attention. Like many things, it was an unspoken agreement between them – they both seemed to just accept it. Once she was under the sheets and the show was over, he offered to turn out the lights. She agreed and darkness soon fell.

Charles had been waiting for the darkness. His suspicion was that Sarah might be more talkative under its cover. He started the conversation awkwardly. "So … tomorrow, we go ho… back to Los Angeles. What happens then?"

"Well, you heard the director. You have your job to do and I have my assignment."

"Assignment?"

"Protecting you and Bryce and everybody at BarLar."

"Bryce." Charles thought about it a moment. "I guess you're still his girlfriend, huh?"

"It's just a cover, Chuck."

She was calling him Chuck now. It had happened too many times during the day for it to be an accident. Somehow, it felt right and comfortable, like much of the week. It was comfort Charles hadn't felt in a long time.

"And us?" Charles essentially whispered the words.

"What about us?"

"Well, you kissed me."

He heard Sarah sigh and roll over in her bed, but he didn't know if it was to face him or to face away from him. "I know." It was all she said, even though he waited for several moments.

"Why?"

"I wanted to."

"And now?"

"I know I should be sorry I did it. It complicates so many things."

"Should be?"

"I'm not really sorry." This time Charles stayed silent until she added, "Are you?"

"I should be. I'm married. And even though sometimes my marriage feels less real than your cover boyfriend, it is real. Even with that … I guess I'm not sorry, either."

They lay in silence for a while, while Charles was lost in his thoughts. He could only presume that Sarah was, too.

He'd learned what he set out to learn, but it had come too easily. While he'd hoped for that revelation, he'd also hoped to extend the length of the evening, thereby extending the length of the trip as much as possible. "So we just pretend nothing happened?"

"Uh-huh. Pretty much."

"What happens in Washington stays in Washington, huh? That pretty much sucks."

"Do you have a better idea?"

Charles thought for a long moment before surrendering with a defeated, "No."

He tried to think his way out of that conundrum, but his thoughts kept leading him in circles. No matter how hard he tried, he didn't see a better way out of the situation than returning to Los Angeles and the life he had waiting for him there – a life of work and little else. Though now danger was added to the mix, not only for him but for his friends, too. Nothing else seemed possible.

If only there was some way to keep alive the comfort he felt here. His imagination, normally so fruitful, was coming up empty. Seemingly-insurmountable barriers were everywhere he looked. Sometime during these ponderings he crossed the boundary between awake and asleep.

His dreams continued his fruitless questing. In them, he was searching desperately for something or someone, but he couldn't find it, no matter how diligently he looked. Everything moved around surreally and still he searched and searched, but he never was able to find what he was seeking. All his questing seemed in vain, but his dream self refused to give up, even as night changed into morning.

_

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_

_I still don't own any part of Chuck and I don't have any plans to purchase it anytime soon. So my only pay comes from your reviews. I've appreciated them all, especially as I worked through some writer's block. Please continue to review._


	18. Home Is Where the Heart Isn't

_Thanks to sharp for the stellar beta. All mistakes in this document are mine, not his._

**LAX Airport Baggage Claim  
November 1  
3:27 p.m.**

The flight from Washington D.C. to Los Angeles had been 'a little choppy' according to the conversation between the flight attendant and Sarah. Charles had spent most of the time white-knuckled, clutching his armrests. Conversation was the furthest thing from his mind, even if he would have had things he wanted to say. Beside him, Sarah had been quiet and relaxed, other than the idle chit-chat with the stewardess. Somehow, as the distance from the east coast increased, so did the distance between them.

The uneasy, tired silence persisted as they navigated through the airport to the baggage claim area. There, Sarah stopped and stood waiting with Charles, even though she hadn't checked any bags of her own and could have left several minutes earlier. Her proximity didn't bring the same reaction as it had even a day before. Walls were back up between them, changed but still present.

The place was noisy with the sound of hundreds of travelers, from businessmen in three-piece suits already talking full-speed into their cell phones to parents herding hyper children wearing Mickey Mouse ears or t-shirts emblazoned with logos from far-away cities. The general bustle of an airport was all around them. All airport baggage claims are very similar, and the one in LAX was no different. If not for the LAX signs, they could still be on the east coast for all Charles could tell.

"Do you need a ride home?" he finally asked Sarah, even though he was planning on taking a taxi himself.

"No. Just thought I'd stay while you wait for your suitcase."

He eyed her carefully. She said it so naturally, but he could hear a secondary reason. It was orders, probably for his protection, even though nothing dangerous had happened to him for several days. Well, other than presenting to a roomful of people but that probably didn't qualify as dangerous in the CIA's book.

A few seconds later Charles's bag appeared. Without waiting for an invitation, Sarah reached out and casually slung the nearly 50-pound bag smoothly to the ground.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome, but it's not a big deal to lift a suitcase."

"No, I mean for more than that. Thank you."

"For what?" Her voice held both genuine curiosity and a glimmer of questing for compliments.

He hesitated. So many answers came to mind: for believing in him, for listening, for not judging him too harshly, for all that they had shared, and more. He couldn't express those in words. It wasn't that he was worried about how it would sound; it was that he simply didn't have the words. And many of them weren't appropriate in a public setting anyway. "For lots of things, really, but mostly for being a friend when I really needed one."

Her head cocked to the side, studying him intently as they walked. Sensing rather than seeing a mother holding hands with a small child, Sarah neatly dodged around them. Her eyes never left their search of his face that he could tell. But she spoke no words.

Charles again broke the silence. "It's not just about the presentations. Though that's a big part of it. I just … I'm really glad you came instead of Casey."

The din swelled at that moment, as they passed by a group of men arguing loudly about which hotel they should use. As Charles looked at them in exasperation, he thought he heard a "Me, too" from Sarah, but he couldn't be certain. If she had indeed said something, it was spoken very softly.

Then they passed outside. Sarah guided Chuck to a taxi set a little apart from the others before she walked to her own cab. They were now officially going their separate ways. Charles tried to track Sarah's progress through the inevitable traffic jam around the airport, but she was lost to sight all too soon. Sighing, he looked out the window and wrestled his mind into focus on the technical challenges awaiting him and the whole BarLar team. Those were large but more surmountable than the personal issues facing him. At this point, Charles simply wanted to resolve something. Technical issues were at least solvable, in theory.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar Inc.  
November 6  
10:17 a.m.**

Casey mentally prepared himself to take on the role of a bored and almost resentful clerk. A guy just doing his job was the best way to get good results from the series of calls he needed to make. He decided to place the easiest call on his list first, to establish a good rhythm that would carry him through the rest of the morning's activities.

"Hello, AT&T." The voice on the other end of the line was cheerful and decidedly female. Casey had avoided the automated system by the simple expedient of not pressing any buttons – an old trick for speaking to a real person.

"Hi, this is John Casey with BarLar, Inc. We're looking into doing some controls on spending here. I'm wondering if I could get the records of the phone calls into and out of our office from the last two months."

"Sure, no problem. Would you like the records from the company-paid cell phones, too?" Her voice was cheery and friendly. The words were also an investigator's dream. He was getting Bartwoski and Larkin's cell phone records, too, in one easy call. Three items compressed into one.

"That would be great. Could you send those directly to me, please?"

"Sure. I'd be glad to help. Where should I send the requested items?"

Casey gave her the address and his name, declining a request to mark the envelope for his eyes only. The idiots in the company would surely see "For John Casey's Eyes Only" as a challenge demanding a reaction. Casey made a mental note to prepare a few envelopes bearing that warning, to better obscure his truly valuable mail in a deluge of false positives. Certain information could be placed in those envelopes to test his hunch about their safety.

Smiling grimly to himself, he crossed the first three sub-items off his list and continued to the next one. It would hardly be possible for the next calls to go as easily as the first one had, but he knew he would get the information he needed to crack the case, no matter how long it took.

**

* * *

**

**Sarah's Porsche****  
Somewhere in Los Angeles****  
November 8  
2:31 a.m.**

In her car Sarah sat in a state unique to trained agents. It was neither boredom nor excitement; it was a watchful waiting, utterly tuned in to her surroundings with her awareness distributed in every direction. She simultaneously was evaluating the environment for anyone who might be about to blow her cover, for her target, and for any other potential danger or interesting fact. It was a state of heightened awareness, but it also was cathartic in a way unlike anything else. It was simultaneously therapeutic and draining. The closest equivalent a normal person might experience would be a long yoga session.

On the seat beside her sat a notebook which contained all the information she had collected so far that night. The sum total of that data was three addresses. It wasn't that she had been having difficulty tracking her quarry's travel through the city. No, that had been simplicity itself.

The problem was that each of the three stops she had made that night was in a location where it was impossible to surreptitiously observe the activities occurring inside the building her target entered. Either the home had a sprawling yard with a fenced entrance or the neighborhood was such that a car parked on the street would stick out look a sore thumb. So, Sarah was stuck with minimal information gathered while the night wore away around her.

Patience was a requirement for any intelligence operative, and Sarah had plenty to spare, on a normal mission. This mission wasn't normal in any sense of the word, however, and she keenly felt the time she had spent away from her sanctioned activities. While she wasn't exactly off the grid, she wasn't dedicating her normal attention to preparing for the next official mission, either.

Then, her target walked out again and entered her car. Abandoning other thoughts, Sarah put the Porsche into gear and pulled into the light traffic, exactly 500 yards behind her prey.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar Inc.****  
Los Angeles  
November 8  
10:20 p.m.**

Casey sat in disgusted admiration, waiting for Bartowski to vacate the building. The man was a machine, staying late all week working on one thing or another. The building was practically never empty. Even John Casey needed sleep occasionally, and it wasn't good for his cover as a simple security man to stay too late every night. It was almost as if Bartowski was avoiding his home.

In reality, Bartowski wasn't a prime suspect for the leak, so Casey could have ignored his presence and simply installed the new security cameras while he was there. Nevertheless everyone was always a suspect, from the head of BarLar to his wife. Even Walker was a potential liability in his mind. It wasn't worth taking the chance.

An additional factor played into that decision, too. Even if the BarLar executive was above suspicion, he wasn't a very accomplished liar. How such a truthful individual had risen to a position of power was a mystery to him, but it was definitely the case. Giving Bartowski the location of the hidden cameras would be essentially equivalent to posting flashing neon signs with their positions. The other man would be so conscious of the cameras that he would look at them every time he passed. Even the BarLar morons would soon figure something was up. No, Casey had to be the only one to know the location of the new set of cameras.

He also had a half-dozen fake cameras to install. Fakes protected both the existence and location of the real cameras. While those were quick to install, they had to be in semi-reasonable locations to not attract too much attention. The real cameras had to get the best spots, not only the spots that would cover the most space but would be the least visible and least likely to be guessed.

Bartowski finally stretched and stood to leave. He walked slowly and wearily toward the exit but stopped in front of Casey's space. "You still here, too?" His voice held no challenge, just a tired sense of finality.

Casey capitalized on that. "Yeah, work never ends. He gestured at the pile of papers around him. I got behind when I was sick and I just can't seem to catch up."

The younger man nodded. "Good luck." He took two steps towards the exit before returning. "Anything I can do to help?"

The offer was so genuine and unexpected, Casey was momentarily speechless. A man already working 18-hour days was offering to help on his way out. It was amazing that such decency still existed in the world. Shaking his head, he gruffly muttered a "No thanks."

Bartowski then walked out into the night, gone but not forgotten. Even as Major John Casey worked on installing the cameras, real and fake, the sincerity of the gesture offered to him stayed in his mind. It had been too long since anyone had offered to help without obvious ulterior motives. Convincing himself that the offer was a ploy to discover the cameras' locations was impossible; no one knew what he was doing.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar Inc.****  
November 9  
2:17 p.m.**

The first few days back in the office had been hellish for Charles. Normally, he could rely on Bryce to help with any number of things, but the two of them hadn't spoken three words to each other. It was apparent even to the rest of the team that something had happened while Charles was away and that both were aware of it. Their tension had spread to the rest of the team. The unique individuals who comprised the BarLar crew were difficult to get working on their best days. Additional external stress only made Charles's job as leader that much more difficult. He'd done his best and was proud of how he had organized the team, though.

Lester had reluctantly taken charge of the RTL coding, a monumental task requiring converting their existing C code into a more hardware-friendly language. It was tedious and exacting but didn't require too much creativity or drive. Stressing the importance of the job was sufficient motivation to keep Lester occupied for at least a couple weeks.

Anna was working on becoming an expert on parallel processing. To get the kind of speeds they required, a single-threaded chunk of hardware would be insufficient. Multiple cores would be required. Her job was to determine how to best arrange those cores and to arrange for the communication between them.

Morgan's long experience with getting video and sound drivers to work on PCs with questionable origins and dodgy software builds made him the natural choice to work on the low-level drivers to operate between their custom hardware and a more traditional computer, which would handle the I/O and other activities. While he resented being put in charge of anything of substance, Charles had posed the challenge to him in a way that made the smaller man's blood race, so it was likely to be completed.

Jeff was starting to stress-test the current version of the software. He had mentioned a large movie collection and a desire to build a comprehensive database of what body parts belonged to which individual in those films. Charles had also suggested downloading additional materials. The combination was sure to test the resiliency of their code to all sorts of overrun errors and other bugs.

Naturally, Charles and Bryce would be overseeing the entire effort to build a hardware version of the image comparison algorithm, the CIPHER, as it was now officially called. His team had decided to call the project KMS internally. The quasi-official internal name was Kick-ass Matching Server. The name by which everyone referred to the project was Kobayashi Maru Scenario. None of the team was truly an expert in hardware design, but Charles was starting to think they might pull off a miracle. They had ordered some ASICS boards to start programming on and all the pep talks he'd given had affected him too.

Now that the organizational details were arranged, Charles was finally able to sit at his desk. He could get back to doing what he loved and felt he did best – the actual creative programming to improve their existing solution. He still was questing to make the matching algorithm find that missing seventh image. Some flaw, somewhere, in the code, was causing the omission. His goal for the day was to understand was what was going on, so that he could start working on fixing the problem.

That goal's likelihood of being met dropped precipitously with a knock on the door. Bryce stood outside, having apparently decided that he now wanted to talk. The knock was highly unusual, however, and told Charles that he could decide whether or not to talk at that time. Resignedly, Charles motioned his college roommate inside.

Even Bryce's entrance into the office was unusual. His friend normally swaggered nearly everywhere he went, and that cockiness was impossible to fully hide. Still, his stride this time was somehow timid and uncertain. He stopped in front of Charles's desk and opened his mouth. It was unusual for Bryce to be speechless. He was glib and could prepare a speech with the best of them. No words came out, however. Charles waited a few seconds until his former best friend managed, "Why did you call me while you were in D.C.?".

Charles knew it was time to talk, but he didn't feel like making things easy. "I needed something. I decided it wasn't worth it. Who were you with, anyway?" His heart was hammering as he breached the topic.

"A woman."

Charles tried to keep his voice casual as he asked, "Anyone I know?"

Bryce stared hard at him, almost as if he were willing Charles to understand the almost-paradoxical truth inherent in the words he was saying. "Not really, no. I don't think you do."

"I see." And he did, a bit. He didn't really know her anymore, did he?

"It was a mistake, I'll tell you that. A one-time mistake that I'm really sorry about."

"One-time?" Charles almost didn't believe it.

His friend insisted. "One time. And I am sorry. Very sorry. I didn't think. You have to believe me, Chuck."

The honesty and pain were apparent on Bryce's face. Charles knew his friend was a good liar, but the conversation had skirted so close to the truth, he was inclined to believe him. The pieces fit together reasonably well. If it had been going on for a long time, even discovery would not have caused the distance between them that they both felt.

Looking carefully at the other man, Charles asked another question. "Do you ever plan on seeing her again?"

"Not like that, no. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Maybe. Eventually." In his heart, Charles knew he probably would, even of this sin. Holding grudges was not something he did well. He was still upset at this point, to the point where he was restraining himself from physically attacking the other man, but he knew time would help heal this wound.

Bryce sighed and then smiled wanly. "I can live with that. Thanks." With one final search of Charles's face, the other man returned to his office.

Peace, albeit in an uneasy one, started to return to BarLar, Inc.

* * *

_Well, there's some fall-out. What do you think?_


	19. Best Served Cold

_This work is not sharpasamarble-approved. It was read and mostly beta'd by him, but he wasn't the happiest with parts of it. I'm publishing of my own volition. Proceed at your own risk. :)__ Krobrules also read and provided some helpful comments._

_Warning: This is a bit darker and more mature than most of the rest of the story. It's still definitely "T" but be aware that portions of this chapter may be a bit disturbing._

**

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**

**1622 El Rito Drive****  
Glendale, CA  
****November 10  
10:25 a.m.**

Sarah checked her disguise one last time. She had modeled her outfit on the standard Arecont Vision service uniform, but she had shortened the shorts and tightened the top, because a little extra distraction never hurt. Her name tag proudly proclaimed Tina, and the van she had 'borrowed' was an actual one from the company. She parked the van in front of the upscale two-story home she had scouted earlier. In her right hand was a briefcase filled with some of the latest in commercial surveillance cameras. A dazzling smile completed the look. She was as ready as she would ever be.

Squaring her shoulders to best frame her reason for entrance, she rang the doorbell. As she had hoped and expected, a bleary-eyed teenage boy answered the door. "What can I do for you?" he asked, squinting at her while rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"I'm here from Arecont to do some maintenance on your security system." It had been easy to determine that they had a security system but that the existing alarms were insufficient for her to determine what Jill did in the house. So, she planned to use the existing security system as a cover for her own personalized surveillance.

"Sure. Come in." He moved aside to let her pass but stayed close enough to get a good view as she walked by. She let him look but not so much of one that it would stand out as atypical. Every region in the world has its own level of accepted and expected ogling. Southern California's standards allowed rather a large amount, and Sarah naturally let it go to that point, to help make her visitation blend into the background.

Sarah strode through the house confidently, like she'd been there several times before, with the teen-ager seemingly compelled to follow in her wake. One of the greatest publicly-held secrets in the security world was that the design of nearly every building was easily available at the office of the county clerk. Finding the exact layout of the house had been simplicity itself.

She started installing the first camera in its assigned location. She had picked locations to give her the most comprehensive views across the house while still focusing on the places where she expected the most action to be.

After the first couple installs, her audience of one disappeared off to his own pursuits. While she didn't mind the appreciation, it was easier to get everything done when she didn't have to hide any of her actions. It wouldn't be obvious to a layperson, but she wasn't hooking the cameras up to the existing wired security system. The new cameras all fed into a wireless transmitter utilizing an unused frequency for nearly static-free communication. Her receiver and only her receiver should be able to capture the outgoing video feeds.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar, Inc.  
2:42 p.m.**

Charles sat at his desk, trying to focus on the problem he had claimed for himself – one that only he could solve. So far, unfortunately, his day had been a disaster. His full concentration was required for the task and he had not been allowed fifteen uninterrupted minutes since the day began. If it wasn't Morgan, wanting more information about how to do his portion of the job then it was Anna, excited about her discovery of using 16 nodes in a hypercube formation. Or Bryce with a question about sales. Or Jeff blocking up the bathroom sinks to try to flood the hallway to go water skiing. And everything seemed to require Charles's personal attention to resolve.

It always took a few minutes after fixing each interruption to get his mind back focused onto the problem. Like all complex problems, it didn't present itself as something that he could keep in his head while handling other issues. Picking the issue back up after a break was like reshouldering a large load – it got harder every time.

He had just gotten involved enough in the problem to start making progress when the phone rang, interrupting his nascent concentration yet again. His natural instinct was to snatch up the phone and bark into it, but he forced himself to relax while the phone rang a second time. His calm "Hello" was exactly how he wanted to present himself.

His sister, Ellie, was on the other end of the phone. The extra second of care had already been rewarded, as she was the last person he wanted to snap at. "Hey, Chuck! Devon and I both pulled some strings to get the same night off. We've not seen you since you went to Washington. I was thinking …." She finished in a rush, "how about a triple date with us, you and Jill, and Bryce and Sarah?"

"I don't know, Ellie. That might not be the best idea." That particular combination of individuals seemed quite explosive, in a variety of ways.

"Oh, come on, don't be such a stick-in-the-mud. I want to hear all about things." Ellie's excitement was nearly irresistible.

"You know I'm willing to come. I always like to see you and Captain Awesome. But I … I don't know if Jill will be able to come."

"Would you at least ask her?"

"That's the thing, Ellie." Charles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I haven't seen her or spoken to her since before I left for Washington." He wondered what reaction this would bring from Ellie. Would it be concern for him and his marriage? Or angry parenting about his responsibilities?

"Oh, Chuck. That's … that's terrible. I'm so sad for you." Deep concern colored her words.

"Yeah, me too." The hopelessness of the situation crept into his voice and Ellie would certainly notice. He tried to cover his mistake. "I mean, it's not all bad. I'm certainly able to get a lot of work done this way. No nagging about when I need to get home." It sounded lame in his ears even as he said it.

Ellie was not fooled. "That sounds an awful lot like mom and dad before things got really bad. Is there anything I can do?" The mention of their parents spoke volumes to Charles about how grave Ellie perceived the situation to be. Normally, they never spoke of their estranged parents.

"Well, she might at least answer the phone if you called her. I should never have taught her about caller ID. I'd like her to come. It'd be nice to at least talk to her for a while and she has been pretty good about making family events. I'd appreciate it if you would invite her."

"You're asking **me** … to invite **your** wife? That's kind of weird, Chuck. Is everything OK with you two?" Ellie sounded equal parts confused and concerned.

As much as Charles wanted to reassure his sister that things were OK, he didn't want to lie to her. Things with Jill were really bad – much worse than he'd let himself believe before, but he didn't want to be his father and just walk out. On the flip side, it takes two to make a marriage succeed, which was one more than they had. So he gave an honest answer, even though it wasn't very reassuring. "I don't know. I just don't know."

More than honest, it also protected him. He didn't have to try to explain that his wife was cheating on him, with his best friend and probably somebody else. How could he even begin to make that explanation to her when he hadn't understood it himself? It was impossible.

Impossible also was the best word to describe his situation. His fate seemed to inexorably lead him into situations where he was trapped, unable to escape by his own efforts. It hardly seemed possible there was a path out; certainly none was at all visible to him, no matter how hard he looked.

His lot in life, it seemed, was to be condemned to his marriage and his life. No matter which way he turned, powers outside his control pushed him to and fro. Deep in his marrow, he felt that even if many other things were different, such would still be the case. Far from being master of his fate, Charles barely felt like an ensign of his soul.

**

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**

**Sarah's Porsche****  
Near 1622 El Rito Drive  
10:26 p.m.**

Sarah sat in stunned silence watching the scene unfold before her. A group of seven men had congregated throughout the early night hours. They sat around talking about pharmaceuticals, golf, and other trivialities. The conversation was easy and relaxed, but it was clear they were waiting for something.

The atmosphere changed when the brunette Sarah was waiting for entered. She didn't seem surprised to see the group waiting for her.

"Ah, the entertainment has arrived," one said.

Another checked his watch. "A little late, too, what?" His English accent was pronounced.

She smiled a bit thinly. "Sorry, Ranier. They kept me a bit late over at Guy's. But I'll make it up to you."

"You can start now," he said, beckoning her with a finger. She walked over and leaned in to give him a kiss. He grabbed her head with one hand to hold her place, while his other roamed over her breasts.

A third man spoke. "You can go first, if you're so impatient."

"I think I will." He stood and put his arms around the lone female and walked her to a bedroom, where Sarah had fortuitously positioned a camera.

Once inside, the two wasted little time divesting each other of clothing. Nor did they delay in getting to business. Sarah had seen porn movies with more build-up than these two had. In fact, she was almost surprised the brunette hadn't shown up with pizza to complete the illusion of a very bad porn movie. The man stood and left a few minutes later, only pulling on a small set of clothes.

He was quickly replaced by one of the others, who similarly used the woman's body, without foreplay, passion, or any semblance of concern for her desires or wishes.

For the next two hours, one, two or three men were with her at every moment. Almost no words were spoken, other than brief commands for positioning. After the initial kiss in the living room, no hints of romance were seen, either. The scene being played out in vivid, high-def detail was one of pure carnal lust.

Sarah had long since inured herself to all kinds of tortures, so the scene before her didn't turn her stomach. She watched with detached, professional interest, while deciding how to use the situation to her advantage. It wasn't clear who the men were, but they obviously used the brunette as little more than a sex toy. Sarah would feel sorry for her, if she hadn't so obviously brought it all upon herself. As it was, all she felt was disgust.

**

* * *

**

**Abandoned Warehouse****  
Somewhere in Los Angeles  
11:05 p.m.**

Reardon Paine looked at the pathetic excuse for a man in front of him. Once upon a time, the other man had been one of the world's elite, like Reardon himself once was. However, unlike Reardon, he had walked away from the challenges and prestige of his position of his own volition, instead of being forced.

Reardon hated him for that. It was one thing to not even have the potential to be great. He understood that. Not everyone had what it took. Reardon pitied those people, when he spared them a thought at all. But the people he truly hated were those who had the potential to be world-changers and threw it away.

At one point, the being in front of him had been a world-class nuclear engineer. Now, he was a sniveling creature trying to survive. The thing who should have been a man spoke, "Who are you?"

Lying served no purpose. "A poisoner by trade. Specifically speaking, yours. Do you know where the codes are?" They both knew which codes he wanted – codes to control the nuclear sites within the country.

"I told you…." He was strong but no one resisted forever.

"I'm going to try it again. Do you know where the codes are?" As the poison spread, the answer would come, sooner or later.

It came sooner. "Yes." Amazement crossed the other man's face. "How did you make me do that?"

"The poison. One side effect is truth serum. Your assignment is simple, Mr. Whitney." Even though he wasn't really worthy of being called by name, Reardon did it. He knew the irony would be lost on the other man, but he could enjoy it himself. "Just get me my codes. You have approximately thirty hours, give or take, before you die. As soon as I have my codes, I'll give you the antidote." He shook a vial of the antidote in front of the other man, even though he had no intention of ever delivering it. Mr. Whitney lunged for the vial, but his reactions were no match for a former Olympian.

"Nuh-uh," he chided. "Get me my codes first."

**

* * *

**

**Jill Bartowski's Automobile  
Outside 1622 El Rito Drive  
November 11  
1:41 a.m.**

Sarah sat quietly in the back seat of Jill's car, while the other woman opened the door and slipped into the driver's seat. The odor of her activities preceded her into the vehicle. Even though Sarah hadn't hidden herself, Jill made no notice of her, as she mechanically put the key into the ignition and the vehicle roared to life.

Sarah took the engine's roar as her cue; speaking now would eliminate the need to get a cab back to her car. "So, this is how you spend your nights? I thought it was just Bryce, but…." Jill's head whipped around to look at her and Sarah took momentary pleasure in the panic apparent in the other woman's face. She kept her own face ice-hard, letting the light from a passing car glitter dangerously off her face.

The panic passed in a moment. Jill apparently was not yet wise enough to fear Sarah. That would change. Jill's voice grated out cockily. "What's it to you?"

"What you do affects me."

"Oh, right. I guess you heard about me and Bryce, then. Bryce said Charles figured it out. That's why I've been avoiding him." She sighed theatrically. "Don't worry about your boyfriend."

"My boyfriend?" Sarah almost choked the words out, though she supposed that was the natural inference to make.

"Yeah, Bryce has always thought with the wrong head. He was very easy to seduce. Just called him up 'I'm lonely. I miss Stanford. Will you come over?' A couple 'accidental' flashes and he was putty in my hands. Poor guy never had a chance."

"So that's how it happened?"

"Yeah, but you don't have to worry about VDs or anything – at least not from me. I keep myself clean. I work in pharmaceuticals after all."

"You think this is about Bryce?"

"Of course. You are his current semi-steady girlfriend, aren't you? You should be careful having him as a boyfriend, though. If it wasn't me, it would have been someone else. He's hardly one to stay faithful."

Sarah laughed in disbelief. "Who are you to talk of being faithful? Why are you even still married?"

Jill shrugged. "They want me to stay married to Chuck. I think it gives them a thrill to be with a married woman. And to have me seduce his best friend on our wedding bed."

"And you do whatever they want?"

"Pretty much."

Sarah smiled and couldn't hold in a small smirk of laughter.

"What's so funny?" Jill asked.

"You. Your situation. I'd made up my mind to do the worst thing I could imagine to you." Sarah had mentally explored various avenues of retribution, from private torture to enforcing some kind of scarlet letter to turning Jill over to her superiors as a suspected member of a rival organization. Jill had presented an even better option.

"Oh?" Jill let the sarcasm drip from her voice. "What are you going to do? Tell on me?"

"No no. Chuck's smart. He'll figure the rest out on his own real soon. No, I know exactly what I'm going to do to you."

"Oh, yeah?" Jill's voice was tough but Sarah had performed enough information extractions to sense the underlying sense of foreboding. "What's that?"

Sarah paused to let the tension mount. Jill's own fears would add more to the power of the moment than anything Sarah could say. When she deemed the moment right, she said a single word quietly but firmly. "Nothing."

"Nothing? That's it?"

Sarah nodded. "Yes, nothing. I can't imagine what I could do that would be worse than what you've already done to yourself. You're a corporate whore walking a high wire with no safety net. When you upset your overlords, they will turn on you. And then you'll be all alone and desperate for help. And I'll do nothing. Sending you to prison would be a kindness." Sarah let the words lash at the other woman, with all the venom she could instill in them.

Jill's voice quavered ever so slightly as she replied, "I won't turn on them. And they'll always be there for me, they promised."

"Sooner or later, you'll do something to upset them. It's inevitable. As for them being there for you, that's laughable." Sarah let herself chuckle grimly. "Pimps never care for their whores. It's rule number one. Rich or poor doesn't matter – pimps use and lose their whores. You might think you're special, but you're not." Oddly, Sarah pulled on her father's teaching for that. Though Sarah had never worked the streets herself, she had proposed the idea to her father, who had taught her better. Surprisingly many things he'd said were useful in her line of work.

"You're wrong." The words were brave but the tone gave away the growing fear.

"Just go on thinking that. It'll just make the coming fall that much more unexpected and harder." Pausing for effect, she let those words sink in, which they did, before she added, "And that much more delicious for those of us waiting for it."

"You're going to have to wait a long time."

Sarah shook her head and started to climb out of the car. "I don't think so. I'll leave you alone now. You should get used to being all alone. You're going to be all by yourself a lot, very soon." Shutting the door behind her, Sarah walked back towards her car, reflecting on how easy revenge can sometimes be.

_

* * *

_

_Do you agree with sharp? Over the top? Just right? Out-of-character? Thoughts? Opinions? Review, please.  
_


	20. Triple Date

_Thanks to sharpasamarble for his comprehensive beta. Any remaining mistakes are solely the author's responsibility._

**The Bartowski House  
****November 12  
6:10 p.m.**

Charles stood looking into the mirror, checking his appearance. Normally, he would not have bothered, but something about tonight felt special and different. He tried to tell himself that it was because he was potentially seeing his wife after two weeks apart. According to Ellie, Jill had agreed to come, but Charles had been stood up too many times to trust that. It was something else which was pushing him to look his best. Deep in his heart, where he was almost afraid to look, he knew it was because Sarah Walker was going to be there.

His hair was getting long again. It always did when he was deeply involved in work. He knew what Ellie would say about it – it was making funny animal shapes again. No time remained to do anything about it, so he grabbed his car keys and prepared to drive to the restaurant alone. Alone again, he mused. Despite indications otherwise, Jill was not going to show.

Just as he was opening the door between the house and the garage, before he could even press the button to open the garage door, the garage door opener jolted to life. Charles's heart leapt into action with the sound and he screamed in surprise. His fear was short-lived, however, as the reason the door opened became visible. Jill was in the driveway, sitting in her red Mustang.

Catching Charles's eye, she honked and gestured for him to join her. Hoping the surprise wasn't too evident in his eyes, he walked past his Prius to where she waited. The prospect of relying on her for transportation home wasn't high on his priority list, but the ride would give the two of them a chance to talk.

As he awkwardly folded himself into the passenger seat, he looked at his wife. Dressed professionally in a long skirt and her horn rim glasses, she seemed as if she should be radiating confidence, but she wasn't. Her posture was just a little too rigid and her chin a little too high, belying the cool image she was trying to project. Charles didn't have the words to begin. Jill apparently didn't either, as she opened her mouth and closed it once, without saying anything. Finally, as they were waiting to get out of their neighborhood onto a major road, she broke the silence. "Surprised to see me?"

"Honestly?" Charles waited for Jill's nod before continuing. "Yes. You've been avoiding me since I got back from Washington. If I had any doubts about what I thought I knew, you erased them. What is there to say? Why talk now?"

A hesitation preceded her answer. "I'm not sure. It just … seemed the right thing to do."

Cocking his head, he goggled at her. "How can you say that matters to you, after what you've done?"

"She told you then?"

"Wait … what? Who is 'she' and what did she tell me?"

"Nevermind. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about what you and Bryce did while I was in Washington. Is there more I should know?" Inwardly, Charles sensed that there was, but he doubted he could handle the truth.

Jill might have felt the same way. Or she might have just not wanted to talk about it. Regardless, she made no reply, just pursing her lips. Charles gave her an extra moment, but when she didn't speak, he pressed on with another question. "Why tonight, Jill? I didn't expect to see you."

"Let's just say, I felt like coming tonight and leave it at that."

Fighting back anger, Charles tried to keep his voice calm. Yelling now might close this small window of communication. "That's not good enough, Jill, not by half. What's going on?" She looked at him sadly, out of the corner of her eye, while focusing on her driving. He could see the resolution in her face as she just shook her head.

"Talk to me, please." He waited what felt like ten very long minutes while she drove mutely. No emotions warred on her face; no internal battle was visible; she simply drove. She might have been tense, but it had been too long since Charles had really interacted with her to truly tell. He spoke again with a sigh. "OK, then do me the small favor of keeping my sister out of this. She doesn't know just how bad things are, and I don't want to stress her out about me. Can you at least do that?"

Jill nodded in response, which Charles took as an encouraging sign. For the rest of the drive he continued to wheedle her, but she didn't react again, either verbally or physically, for the remainder of the drive. He even raised his voice a bit, which was very unusual. In the end, though, he was frustrated, having had more satisfying conversations with his computer at work.

The group had agreed to meet at a sushi restaurant that Ellie had discovered a few months ago. The Bartowskis were a little late to arrive, even by California standards. As they passed by the windows to reach the door, Charles could see the other four already seated. Speeding up slightly, he reached the door before Jill and opened it for her. She walked by and he fell into step beside her. Since her arms were crossed, he had no opportunity to hold her hand, even if he would have had the desire.

Jill stood pointedly behind the chair across from Bryce, so Charles had to pull it back for her. That left him the seat in the middle on their side of the table, next to Ellie and across from Sarah. Awesome sat across from Ellie, completing the sextet. The other four looked at the two of them curiously, as they awkwardly reacted to each other.

"You made it!" Ellie exclaimed before they had even finished settling themselves beneath the long tablecloth that looked more suitable for a table twice the size of theirs.

"Yeah," Sarah said, looking pointedly at Jill, "I'm surprised you didn't have other pressing business. Some kind of hardcore team meeting thing? I'm sure you had an orgy of opportunities, yet here you are. I guess miracles do happen, even in this day and age."

"Indeed," Jill replied, an obviously-fake smile plastered across her face. "Somehow, you've managed to stay Bryce's girlfriend for more than a month. How has that worked?"

It was Bryce who responded. "Amazingly well. She's everything I could hope for." Charles could hear the lie, but he wondered who else might. Ellie and Captain Awesome didn't know Bryce well enough. Sarah's spy senses might give him away, even if the truth weren't already obvious to her.

Their waiter chose that moment to distribute their waters. Jill waited until he had left before plucking an ice cube from her glass. Holding it between her middle finger and thumb, she licked and sucked it into her mouth. "No temptation to … stray?" she purred at him. Charles's attention was too fixed on her and Bryce to see any reactions behind him, but he was sure her behavior could not have gone unnoticed.

"No, none at all," Bryce replied, in a remarkably steady voice that Charles envied, even though he shot Charles a guilty look. Charles didn't trust his own voice under normal circumstances, and these were far from normal circumstances, not the least of which because Sarah's foot was slowly traversing up his leg.

His first reaction was to angrily open his eyes wide at Sarah, imploring her to stop something so obviously inappropriate. On the heels of that came the realization that Sarah's shifting weight exactly paralleled Jill's movement, so the sensations he was feeling were equal to the ones Bryce was receiving. That realization made him pause, during which time his brain realized just how good the caress felt. It had been a long time since something had felt quite like that and the protest died on his lips, momentarily, even though everything still felt wrong. He justified it by telling himself he didn't know how to say something without cluing in his sister.

That enchanting sensation continued while the waiter took their orders – dumplings for Charles, lo mein for both Awesome and Ellie, Peking Duck for Jill, Moo Goo Gai Pan for Bryce, and just a crab hand roll with wasabi for Sarah. Charles's voice as he ordered was almost a full octave higher than normal, or so it felt to him.

Ellie, apparently oblivious to the under-the-table activity, turned to her brother. "Enough of relationship talk; tell me about Washington. Did anything interesting happen?"

All eyes turned to focus on him, and he felt his mind go completely blank under the pressure. Well, it wasn't completely blank, but the image of interesting in Washington that it conjured was not exactly fit to discuss in the present company. Just thinking about it made his lips hot. "Uhh … well …" he stammered as he tried to recover.

Sarah looked at him curiously. "C'mon, Chuck, tell them. Don't be modest." While Jill turned an icy glare on the blonde, Charles racked his brains for what she might be referring to. Again, only one sensation felt real to him. She prompted him again. "Something I gave you…"

"You gave me …" _a kiss_, he wanted to fill in, but he knew she was thinking about something else, something almost as important.

"It was big and white …" she prompted again.

Smirking, Bryce interjected, "Sure it wasn't something he gave you?" He paused a fraction of a second before continuing, "Oh, wait. That would be small and white." No one actually laughed at that comment, though Bryce tried to force out a chuckle. Ellie just glared at him. Even Jill looked faintly put-off by the crude attempt at humor, misplaced and mistimed.

On the plus side, the moment of discomfort gave him a moment to collect his thoughts. The food arrived at that moment, too, giving him another moment. The two distractions provided sufficient time. At least his legs weren't being stroked any longer, aiding his concentration slightly.

Once the waiter departed, the conversation continued as if the interruption had never happened. "Right, big and white." Charles let his joy and pride show on his face. "The company was so pleased with my efforts that they worked with MIT to get me an honorary doctorate. I am now officially Dr. Charles Irving Bartowski, Ph.D."

"Really?" Ellie was grinning from ear to ear. "That's fantastic. But…how?"

"You've heard about how some schools give out honorary doctorates?" Sarah filled in the gap. "Well, my company has some connections with MIT. They saw Chuck's work and we couldn't stop them."

"Honorary?" Bryce asked. "What's that mean?"

"Just that I don't have to do the classes," Charles said, picking up the stream. "It counts as real in every important way, though. My work counts as a dissertation and they just waived the class requirements."

Ellie sat stunned but with a huge smile on her face. Leaning over to give Charles a hug, she congratulated him, "I knew you could do it. Not the route I would have thought, but…."

Devon added his two cents. "Good work, bro. That's awesome."

Charles smiled at their appreciation. It felt good, even though he still wasn't entirely convinced that he had earned the distinction.

Ellie was turning a bit misty-eyed. "My baby brother, a doctor, too. I'm so proud of you. Aren't you proud, too, Jill?"

"I guess." Seemingly against her will, Jill met Sarah's cold eyes. An unspoken agreement to not make too much trouble that night seemed to pass between them. Or was it a promise that they had unsettled business? Regardless, Jill continued. "No, really, that is pretty cool."

Ellie continued talking to her sister-in-law. "So, what did you do home all alone while Chuck was away?"

Sarah coughed into her napkin at that moment. Charles could have sworn he heard "Who she did" in the middle of the cough. Everybody her sweet "Excuse me" after she was done.

Charles tried to defuse the coming firestorm by drowning it before it could get started. Jill had behaved, mostly, to this point, but he didn't want to overstretch things in front of his sister. "You weren't alone, though, were you?" Somehow, his water turned into gasoline while he was in mid-throw – his words changing in his mouth.

Jill's look turned from neutral to shooting daggers at both of them. "No," she said sweetly. "I invited over an old friend from Stanford."

"Oh," Ellie said brightly, probably aware of the tension but choosing to ignore it. "Did you two have fun?"

"Sort of." Jill replied, with a hint of a smile. "My friend was having a problem with chemistry. The expectation was an exothermic reaction …" Here she paused deliberately, before continuing in a condescending tone aimed at Sarah. "That means it produces heat, dear." Jill's smile grew as Sarah glowered in response. "But it turned out it was endothermic – just cold. So I helped my friend's chemistry experiment find heat."

"How'd you do that?" Awesome asked, while Charles fought to keep his composure. He knew exactly what Jill was talking about, even though she'd left enough doubt that it wouldn't necessarily clue in Ellie and her boyfriend. She was following the letter of his request, while making him squirm. And here he'd thought maybe her coming tonight was a signal of changing attitudes.

"I just introduced a new compound into the reaction. It helped heat things up immediately."

Charles couldn't believe Bryce wasn't blushing. He looked calm and collected, interested in the story, looking for all the world like it had nothing to do with him. That kind of restraint would be useful, but it wasn't something Charles had ever possessed.

Sarah spoke then. "Are you certain the new compound was just a catalyst? Maybe you completely changed the reaction. Turned into something else entirely. Something … dangerous, perhaps?"

"Now, honey," Bryce said, putting his arm around Sarah, "Jill knows what she's doing. She is an expert after all." His kiss attempt missed her face, however, as Sarah turned her head to face Awesome. Bryce was left with a mouthful of hair.

Seemingly oblivious to his discomfort, Sarah asked the blond doctor, "So how are things at work?"

"Busy, as usual. But I love what I do. How about you?"

"Oh, it's fine, thanks." Sarah smiled as she spoke. "I get to do lots of interesting things and meet interesting people."

Ellie, however, was not fooled by Sarah's innocent act. "Don't tell me you and Bryce are having problems, too. I saw what happened there." She made a waving motion with her finger, indicating the two of them.

Sarah had tried to sneak in a bite while Ellie started talking or so it appeared. If so, her timing was fortuitous. Seeming not to hear the question, she made a sour face. "This hand roll is too spicy. Every place I goes puts too much wasabi on. How can I get them to not overuse the stuff? I swear it's impossible." She sighed dramatically.

"Don't try to change the subject, how are things with you and Bryce?" Jill asked with exaggerated care.

"Well," Sarah began, "I've never met anyone quite like Bryce. And, for some reason, I don't want to let go. If you can tell the true measure of a man by his friends, Bryce is a marvel." Her foot, which had been resting on Charles's shoes, stroked across his ankle a couple times, to let him know which friend in particular she was thinking about.

"How sweet," Ellie said. "But why haven't we ever met any of your friends so we could judge you the same way?"

"Well," Sarah said, while Charles admired her aplomb and grace under pressure, "most of my friends are still back in Baltimore. And I'm rather married to my work. Out here, I've just not met that many people."

"Yeah," Awesome added, "keeping track of the Brycester is surely a full-time job."

"It is. But I also like keeping tabs on his friends. Or, at least, most of his friends. In a way, I'd say his friends have become my friends." Charles knew part of that was addressed at him, but he wasn't sure how much. He wondered how much honest, real people Ellie and Awesome could appeal to a hardened CIA agent.

"That's sweet of you. But why only 'most'? Oh. Thinking of Morgan," Ellie said with a smile that disappeared as she obviously found another train of thought. "Where is the bearded little troll? I expected him to have tried to crash our party by now. I mean, we've eaten a full meal and there's been no sign of him. Not that I'm complaining."

"Oh, he's with someone tonight." Charles was smiling, as he expected the conversation to drift this direction eventually and he was excited to share his news.

Ellie reacted predictably. "A real someone or an imaginary someone?"

"Uhhh…real, actually. Very real and she's very nice and …"

"She. You said 'she'." Ellie's eyes were wide open in surprise and excitement. Charles knew she'd dreamed of the day when Morgan would be out of her hair, which is why he was so excited to share this with her.

"Yes. Yes. Anna. Morgan's girlfriend. She knows about you and Morgan, so she set up a special surprise for Morgan tonight. She promised to keep him distracted all evening." Charles cringed as he spoke, knowing how Ellie felt about his oldest friend.

"What are you talking about? Me and Morgan? There is no such thing." Ellie sounded cross that anyone would think such a thing. Charles knew both sides of the story, and he tended to side with his sister, though he wished Morgan the best of luck.

"I know that and you know that, but Morgan doesn't know that. And Anna doesn't know that. The point is, he's with her tonight."

"Chuck," Ellie gasped, "why haven't you told me Morgan has a girlfriend? That's fantastic news!" If she'd seemed excited by his Ph.D. announcement, it was nothing compared to her expression of joy at the news that her lovesick pursuer had found another woman.

Now that most of their plates were cleared away, the waiter brought their bill. He placed it on the table between Ellie and Devon. "I got this," Devon said.

"No," Ellie said. "This get-together was my idea. I'll pay for it."

"How about we split it?" Charles offered.

"No," Captain Awesome showed again why he deserved his nickname, putting his hand over the bill. "This is all mine."

"Just as well," Jill said, "I need to get going." They all stood and started slowly walking out, Awesome detouring to the front counter to settle the bill.

"Already?" Charles asked Jill. "I was hoping to hang out for a while and talk, plus I don't have my car here."

"I'll give you a ride," Bryce and Sarah said simultaneously. They then looked at each and broke up laughing.

Jill glared at them both and stalked off. Frankly, Charles was glad to see the backside of her, and not for its appearance. She seemed to delight in making him miserable whenever she was around. Even the way she had helped to keep Ellie in the dark was designed to drive the dagger deeper into his heart.

Awesome rejoined them a moment later and the five of them stepped out of the restaurant into the cool night air. "Shall we go back to our place?" Ellie offered. "I'd be happy to whip up a chocolate mousse."

"That sounds great, sis." Charles agreed and the others all nodded. Even Sarah had sampled enough of Ellie's cooking to know not to miss an opportunity to eat it again.

Before he went to get their car, Awesome gave Ellie a kiss. They then looked pointedly at Bryce and Sarah, who moved together into an uneasy cuddle. Even Bryce didn't seem to be able to muster the enthusiasm to try to take advantage of their cover relationship. Their forced togetherness looked almost as uncomfortable as Charles felt being a fifth wheel. That was doubly ironic, since he was the only married one in the group.

Before they could decide on riding arrangements, however, a very seriously ill man came stumbling along the sidewalk. "Help me!" he tried to call out, though he was more gasping than calling.

Ellie leapt immediately into action, taking his pulse and checking his respiration. "What's your name?" He didn't respond. "Someone please call an ambulance!"

Charles didn't remember things clearly at that point. Everything was happening at once, and his attention was too split to fully process anything. Sarah's phone was out in a flash and she was talking to the dispatcher at the other end. Ellie was working with the sick man with Awesome's help. Charles and Bryce stood awkwardly off the side, simply watching the doctors work.

Ellie pulled out his wallet shortly after he collapsed. She handed it to her brother. "Chuck!" His daze took a moment to clear. "Chuck, check for medical ID." Charles started fumbling through the wallet, looking for anything interesting.

It seemed only a few seconds later that the ambulance was there. As Ellie loaded the man in, Charles felt his pride overwhelming his normally shy disposition. "That's my sister! That's my sister, Eleanor Faye Bartowski saving that man's life."

Charles's eyes were still on the contents of the wallet. Ellie and Awesome were consumed with the man's vitals. Sarah's attention was captivated by the dispatcher, still. That meant that Bryce was the only one to see the transfer of a locket from the sick man's hands into Ellie's sweater pocket.

_It's hard to write six people together in one room. What did you think? At least outside events are picking up again._


	21. Truth is a Dangerous Thing

_A big chapter requires lots of work. Sharpasamarble provided a huge, comprehensive set of feedback that led me to rewrite nearly the entire chapter. Mrs. Arathorn and Wepdiggy also deserve thanks for reviewing that revision and helping catch a couple mistakes. Ultimately, though, all mistakes and omissions are my responsibility. Thanks for all the help, though!_

**BarLar, Inc.  
November 13  
11:42 p.m.**

Charles was again at his desk, with the palm of his right hand supporting his head. His unfocused eyes were still pointed at a printout containing the results of some tests he had run earlier in the day. Despite his best intentions, though, he was no longer actively working to understand the results. The day had been long and he simply could not focus on the problem any longer. Now, that delicious period of mental randomness that presages sleep was upon him.

His cell phone started playing Styx's Mr. Roboto very loudly. Charles jerked alert and reached for his cell phone. He looked at it for a moment, gauging the time and gathering his thoughts, before he answered. "Hey, Awesome. Little late to be calling, isn't it?"

His sister's boyfriend's voice was barely recognizable through the strong emotions that colored it. In the background, the clear sound of tires was evident. "I'm sorry, Chuck. But it's Ellie. Something's wrong with her. We're on our way to County General Hospital." Beyond the sadness, the naked fear in Devon's voice really captured Charles's attention. That, more than anything else, helped him shake off the cobwebs of sleep.

"Devon, what happened?" Even as he talked, Charles patted his front pants pocket to verify that his keys were still there and started heading for the door.

Confusion and terror continued to be audible in Devon's answer. "I don't know. It was the weirdest thing, like she was drunk, but she hadn't had any alcohol. She got freaky honest and abrupt, talking about my biking shorts and other stuff. Then things got really scary. She got quiet and passed out right on the couch. She's been in and out of consciousness since then."

"I'll meet you there."

**

* * *

**

**County General Hospital  
November 14  
5:21 a.m.**

Charles sat by his sister's bed, holding her left hand in both of his. Tracks from long-since dried-up tears stained his face. His vigil was now silent, almost serene, like it had been much of the night, even when the tears were flowing. An IV pumped fluid into her right arm, but aside from the sound of their breathing and the instruments, it was quiet.

He appreciated the chance to stay with her. Officially, no visitors were allowed in the rooms at that time of day, but Devon had pulled some strings. So far, the doctors hadn't been able to determine the cause of Ellie's problems. They had acted hopeful in front of him, but the expression on their faces and the lines etched across Devon's face had told him the true story. The doctors couldn't help; it was up to Ellie herself. And her time was growing short.

"C'mon, Ellie, you can do it." He breathed the words fearfully.

As if she heard him, she stirred on the bed and opened her eyes, looking straight through him. "Chuck, is that you?" It was the first time she'd been conscious in his presence, though the doctors had indicated she was in and out earlier.

"Yes, Ellie. It's me. I'm so glad you're awake. How do you feel?"

"I don't know. I feel so … so weird. Something is wrong, Chuck."

"What's wrong? What's going on?"

"I don't know. But I think it has something to do with the creepy cop who visited me this afternoon."

"What creepy cop?"

Her words seemed to come out without her willing them to. She spoke automatically. "This cop came by to ask about what happened last night. I told him the whole story, how the sick guy appeared on the street and how I tried to save him. I even explained that we weren't able to save his life. He asked a lot of questions, and he seemed to know a lot of what happened already – even things I hadn't told other people.

"Anyway, he finally seemed somewhat satisfied. Then he asked to take a picture and he brushed my hair back. That's when I really thought he was getting ultra-creepy, but I let him take the picture. I signed a statement about what had happened and he left. It wasn't long after he left that I started feeling funny."

Charles was reeling. A rogue cop? What was going on? It seemed like something straight out of prime-time TV. "Are you sure he was a cop?"

"No. He had the uniform and he knew my full name, but I never saw a badge or anything. I just assumed he was." Again, something about Ellie's voice was wrong. Mechanical. Forced. Not her. But Charles couldn't dwell on that now; he wanted to keep her talking while she was conscious.

"Did he want anything?" Charles was desperate for answers and Ellie seemed to be able to provide some of them at least.

"Just to know what happened last night. He … he seemed like he wanted something more, like he wasn't satisfied with what I told him, but he never said why."

Charles really felt like he should be able to put together the clues, but he couldn't understand what happened. Ellie's condition seemed somehow connected to the events of a couple nights ago. He thought back to that evening and the events after they'd left the restaurant. A man passing out was unexpected, to be sure, but he had seen weirder things. He must have missed something. But what?

He turned to ask Ellie again, since she'd been so helpful to that point. But it was too late. She had lost consciousness again, looking even paler than she had before. Even her breathing was shallow. As tears filled his eyes anew, Charles almost wondered if the conversation had been real or just something he'd hoped for. He was so anxious to help her, had the whole thing been a figment of his imagination?

Charles wracked his brain to no avail. He felt fuzzy from fear, adrenaline, and lack of sleep. The only thing crystal clear was that Ellie was in danger and that he needed to find some way to help her. Her comments about the potentially-fake cop had his curiosity going. It seemed that might be the clue he needed to save her life.

With that determination made, he began to trace down what the fake cop might have been seeking. The first thing he did was to call Sarah, despite the hour. He didn't quite realize how perilous this decision was. Not that peril would dissuade him from helping someone in need.

He muttered into the phone as he waited for her to answer. "C'mon, Sarah, pick up. C'mon."

"Walker here." Even muffled by sleep and barely-concealed anger, her voice tinkled. Given the circumstances, it utterly failed to send a shiver down his spine, for probably the first time.

"Sarah, I'm sorry about calling so early –"

"You better be. Somebody had better be dead." Anger and resentment were laced through the unintentionally cruel words.

That sentiment tightened his throat to the point where he couldn't speak for a moment. Finally, he choked out, "Not yet."

It took a moment for Sarah to digest that response and make sense of it. When she did, horror struck. "Oh no, Chuck, I didn't mean that – that's terrible. What happened?"

The lump still stuck in Charles's throat kept him from speaking again for a long moment. Sarah didn't fill the silence, probably understanding his situation. Eventually, he found his voice. "It's Ellie. She's in the hospital, dying. She said she felt fine until after a cop showed up and asked her some questions about the man who collapsed a couple night's ago. Did you notice anything that might … might explain what's going on?"

"I'm sorry, Chuck. I didn't see anything. Where are you?"

"County General. You're sure you didn't see anything?"

"No."

"If you think of anything, ANYTHING, call me at 323 – 555 – 0839. OK?"

"OK. I will."

Sighing, he hung up and dialed another number.

"WHAT?" Bryce's reaction was even less understanding than Sarah's.

"Bryce, it's me, Charles. Ellie is in the hospital and I need to know something."

"Oh, man, that sucks. What can I do?" The voice on the other end of the line was significantly mollified by the news.

"Did you see anything weird a couple nights ago at the incident after we left the restaurant? Did Ellie get something from that guy she tried to save?"

The silence stretched into a few seconds. "I didn't think it was my business. I still don't, I guess, but if you think it's important, I'll tell you. The guy slipped something into her sweater pocket. I don't know what it was. It was very quick. I'm not sure she wanted anyone to know about it. Or, heck, she might not have noticed. But if she's sick, I guess it might be something important."

Charles was already running from the room. "Thanks, Bryce. You're a life-saver."

He hung up before his friend's "I hope so" reached him.

**

* * *

**

**Sarah Walker's Apartment  
5:32 a.m.**

In her bed, Sarah Walker's mind rolled uneasily. Something about the phone call felt wrong. Why would Chuck be asking about two nights ago? It didn't add up.

Nevertheless, sleep beckoned. The bed was just the right temperature and so soft. Cobwebs in her brain grew larger and thicker. Surely a few minutes of sleep wouldn't be a problem. She could simply relax and let the warm sensations overtake her.

Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. Austin! She'd lost a partner in Texas. It was strange that she could remember the house in Austin, but her partner's cover name was lost in the mist of time. That house had been comfortable – too comfortable, as it turned out. She had been sleeping there when she shouldn't have been. Fortunately for both her own life, as well as her partner's, they had installed multiple alarms in the house, one of which had awoken her.

But the slept had kept from her being where she was supposed to be when she was supposed to be there. That mistake had nearly cost her partner his life. She could remember all the details clearly, except for the partner himself. He had been angry and refused to work with her again. Even when a follow-up investigation showed toxic and nearly fatally levels of carbon dioxide (which had triggered the alarm), he had never forgiven her.

That memory and the surprising emotional wallop it contained brought got her to feet and started her dressing. One partner's potential camaraderie may have been lost to sleep, but she was damned if she was going to lose another so carelessly. Especially not this one.

In the few minutes it took Sarah to pull on clothes, she debated calling Casey. It wasn't obvious that foul play was involved in the current situation. Casey was not a bear to arouse idly. If her gut feeling of disquiet was wrong, she'd lose the bare beginnings of trust she'd established with the NSA man.

Then again, if she was right, then she could use the opportunity to move up in people's esteem. She had spent a lot of time and effort building relationships with Charles, his family, and his friends. So far, that effort hadn't paid back in agency-approved currency. If her hunch that something more sinister than was obvious was going on with Ellie's hospitalization and Chuck's call, she might finally start getting paid in results. If so, it would make her feel a little less guilty about how much she'd enjoyed being a part of a normal group of people for the first time in her life.

**

* * *

**

**County General Hospital  
5:53 a.m.**

Charles convinced Awesome to let him into Ellie's personal locker in the hospital changing room. He wasn't sure her sweater would be there, but the odds were slim that she had worn it home after caring for the man who had apparently sentenced her to the same fate he had faced.

Sure enough, in the locker was her sweater. Awesome fingered it thoughtfully. "Her lucky sweater. She was wearing that sweater when I first asked her out. I … I told her that LL Bean must have stolen the color from her eyes." Devon tried to force a smile, but it was thin and wan. "I've called it **my** lucky sweater ever since."

Charles put his hand on Devon's shoulder. "… Can I see the sweater?" It was awkward, but he needed to see what was in the sweater. Devon handed it over without a word, staring into space, obviously lost in another time and place. Taking advantage of the distraction, Charles felt through the pockets.

His search was quick and fruitful. A front pocket contained a locket that Charles had never seen before. It was always possible that Devon had given her a new piece of jewelry, but his instincts told him this particular necklace was what the rogue cop was searching for. He fingered the chain carefully.

Devon finally broke from his reverie. He looked at Charles but apparently saw nothing but Ellie' sweater. Taking the sweater back gently, Devon spoke softly. "I think … I think Ellie would like to have this." He started to walk out, but he stopped short.

Charles looked at Devon curiously. The doctor turned slowly and handed the sweater back. "She's your sister. You should be … you should be the one to give this to her."

"Devon, I … that's sweet, but …"

Devon pushed Charles out of the room. "Take it to her. Give her … give her my love."

"You're not coming?" Charles couldn't believe it. Even in grief, Devon was being undeniably awesome.

Shaking his head, Devon replied, "Not right now. This is family time. I'm not family … yet. I'll be along in a few minutes."

As he walked back, alone, to Ellie's room, Charles examined the locket. He tried to pry it open, but it was sealed shut. Opening it was beyond what his fingers could do unaided. A careful examination turned up no external markings about why it might be important.

When he reached the room, he pushed the locket from his mind, for a moment. Wrapping it gently around Ellie, he spoke directly to her. "Here's your lucky sweater. I figured you could use it."

She didn't respond, and, after a moment, Charles turned back to the locket. He addressed it directly, too. "And what am I supposed to do with an old locket like you? Can you save her?" The locket was as mute as his sister.

**

* * *

**

**Reardon Paine's Apartment  
5:59 a.m.**

This was it. Reardon knew he was close. As was the case in all the best jobs, unforeseen wrinkles had appeared. That was what made what he did exciting – what made life worth living. Without obstacles to overcome, everything was mundane. This particular complication was almost resolved.

He allowed himself to revel in that feeling of accomplishment briefly before he placed a phone call to a number he'd written down less than an hour ago.

A now-familiar voice on the other end answered after four rings. "Hello?" It was the voice of Charles Bartowski, the man currently in possession of the nuclear codes Reardon needed. The sound came through both the telephone and through the headphones Reardon had been using earlier. The conversations he'd overheard had been so enlightening.

"You have something I want. I have something you want." Reardon was not one to mince words.

"What? What are you talking about?"

"You have a locket that is very important to me. I want it and I'm willing to trade." If the man could figure out what Reardon was talking about, he'd decided to let them live. If he didn't pass the test, then a little poison would take care of him, too. Two lives in balance. The thrill of it pumped adrenaline into his system.

"Wait. You … you did this to my sister? How dare you …." The voice on the other end of the phone trailed off. He'd made the first connection. Would he make the second? Reardon sat on pins and needles.

Charles continued, more slowly now. "You did this, so you can undo this. You want the locket and I want my sister's life." Again, he paused. And, again, Reardon simply let the events unfold. He was in control of all possibilities, so he didn't need to act.

A dead voice came out of the phone, saying the words Reardon had hoped to hear. "I have to save her. I have to save Ellie. I don't know what's in this locket, and I don't care. You can have it. I just want my sister to live. I'll make that trade."

"Excellent. I'll be there in fifteen minutes. Room 317, correct?"

"That's right. I'll be here."

As he hung up the phone, Reardon smiled. He didn't know it, but Charles Bartowski had just saved two lives. That he had chosen to endanger millions more probably wouldn't matter to him. It certainly didn't matter to Reardon. A short cab ride and his problems would be over.

**

* * *

**

**County General Hospital Parking Lot  
6:16 a.m.**

Sarah exited her Porsche and walked towards the visitor's entrance. She still wasn't quite sure why she had come so early in the morning. Part of it certainly had to be attributed to her internal desire to satisfy Graham's orders about keeping Chuck happy for reasons of national security. Another portion, larger, was Chuck himself. Even those two together didn't fully explain things, though. Something just felt wrong.

She quickly crossed the distance to the front door of the hospital. Her hand strayed to her phone on her hip pocket. Should she call Casey? Rather than diminishing, her unease had grown on the drive over. Without something to pinpoint, though, she again resisted. The feel of her Smith & Wesson against the small of her back also reassured her.

Fortunately, the help desk was manned, even at this ungodly hour. She walked to the woman behind the counter. "I'm looking for Eleanor Bartowski. Can you tell me what room she's in?"

"Ellie? She's a doctor here, so I don't know what room she's in, but it'll probably change quickly."

Apparently, some rumor mills weren't very efficient. "No, she's very sick. I need to see her, please."

"Oh." The woman typed on her computer for a moment and when she continued, all levity had left her voice. "She's in room 317, but visiting hours aren't for another two hours. There's a nice restaurant just down the …." She trailed off as small man stalked past the two of them.

"Sir!" the helpdesk lady called out. "Sir, you can't go back there without some form of ID." He didn't listen, however, and proceeded deeper into the hospital. Scowling and muttering profanities that would have made Casey proud, the helpdesk person gave chase. "You can't just go barging in like that!"

Sarah seized her opportunity and followed the two of them into the currently-closed-to-visitors section of the hospital. Once she felt confident that she wouldn't be stopped again, she turned aside from the chase and got her bearings.

A calm stride blended better than a person in a hurry, even in a hospital, so it took her a minute or two longer than strictly necessary to get to Ellie's room. Apparently, that was also the destination of the man who had abetted her own entrance, because he was already there, holding a vial of purple liquid in one hand.

Her danger sensors spiked. Something was wrong. She stopped just outside the room and listened through the slightly ajar door.

The short man was speaking "…good choice. I have what you want right here. Do you have what I want?" He jiggled the vial.

Chuck's hand quaked as he displayed a locket that Sarah didn't recognize. "I-I have it. I have it right here." His voice was half-an-octave higher than normal.

"Give it to me."

Sarah froze. This transaction explained the alarm bells which had been ringing in her head all morning. That realization, while useful, didn't provide any clarity about how to resolve the situation. The man seemed sinister, but first impressions aren't always accurate. Clearly, some transaction was taking place, but that didn't automatically make it clear who was evil and wrong. The reminder of information being transferred out of BarLar niggled at her mind, too. As much as she wanted to trust Chuck, she couldn't – not now, not with this.

Her training on situations like this was clear – observe and don't disturb events. It went against her natural predilection for action, but she had disciplined herself to watch events unfold before reacting. The most severe test of her resolve had been another incident with another ex-partner. He had been captured by a 'sting operation' from other CIA operatives. They'd used him as a punching bag for a few hours while Sarah watched from her hiding place. A later investigation had shown her partner had been legitimate and the others to be members in a splinter cell, but she had no way of making that determination at the time.

Watching that incident had been uncomfortable, but it hadn't hurt like watching Chuck in this situation. Her stomach churned and her fingernails dug into her palms as she clenched her fists in frustration. Mostly, what disturbed her was the seemingly-irrational fear that Chuck was somehow a bad guy in this situation. The other guy had all the classic indications of evil, but it was so difficult to tell. And, lately, she'd been telling herself that Chuck was too good to be true. The proof was right in front of her eyes. As much as she wanted to jump in and knock them both out, she stayed behind the door and watched.

Poor, naïve Chuck simply handed across the locket, without even arranging a simultaneous exchange. Sarah evaluated the likelihood that the necklace was simply payment for some untested drug. The Bartowskis didn't seem to have exorbitant wealth, but it was possibly a valuable family heirloom. Too many unknowns – that was always the problem. Sarah couldn't act without knowing more.

The short man smiled. "Here's your antidote." He handed over the purple vial and then scanned the surroundings without reacting in any way. "And, since you trusted me, a bonus. The same truth serum I used on your sister." That was a vial of clear liquid. "And a second antidote. Use them well."

Chuck looked confused but he took the extra two vials before rushing over and pouring the first purple liquid, the purported antidote, down Ellie's throat. The other man watched for a fraction of a second and shook his head wryly, before walking toward the door.

Sarah tried to inconspicuously open the door and step inside, looking as if she had just arrived. "Chuck, I got your call, is everything OK?" It was a risk, but she needed to check on Chuck before following the other suspect.

Her actions weren't careful enough. She had apparently been seen eavesdropping earlier. As he passed by to exit, the short man moved with world-class quickness. Before Sarah had even processed that his hand was coming out of his jacket, a hypodermic needle was pressed firmly against her abdomen. An ugly greenish-brown liquid filled the needle, and it didn't take any training to guess that it wouldn't be healthy for her. "You're coming with me," he hissed and she had no choice but to agree. They slowly backed out of the room, while Chuck could only watch helplessly.

_As always, feedback is hugely appreciated and valued. Was the action good? Too much too fast? Feelings about the show tie-in? Lay it on me!_


	22. Rescued?

_Thanks to sharpasamarble and brickroad for beta reads and comments. The delay is definitely NOT due to them._

**Casey's Apartment  
6:09 a.m.**

Casey rolled over in his bed, a maniacal glint in his half-open eyes. His phone was ringing and somebody was about to be in for a world of hurt. As the caller ID identified the recipient of that impending pain, the major smiled. Bartowski. Perfect.

"What the hell do you want, Bartowski?" he barked into the phone. "Lose your keys again?"

Intimidation was not only fun, but it also eliminated unnecessary conversation. Bartowski was normally a great target. This time, however, he seemed immune as words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. "I'm sorry for calling so early, Casey, but I don't know who else to call. Sarah was here and this creepy guy who gave me something to save Ellie put a needle against her stomach and dragged her off. We've got to save her."

"Hmph. Surprised it took this long for a CIA skirt to get into trouble. I wouldn't worry too much. It usually only takes a few weeks to get a replacement. I'll file a report once it's a reasonable hour. Until then, don't waste my time." Casey moved his thumb towards the disconnect button.

"Casey, please! This guy poisoned Ellie and he'll probably get Sarah, too, if we don't help."

Finally, in the stream of words, something of interest appeared. "Wait one second. Your sister was poisoned? When did this happen?"

"Sometime yesterday. A guy posed as a cop and came in and questioned her about some other guy we saw pass out yesterday … wait, no, two days ago. When he didn't get what he wanted, he poisoned her."

Casey's blood started churning. "It takes a real slimeball to impersonate a police officer. Tell me more."

"Apparently he was after a locket the dead guy gave to Ellie."

"You really need to learn to tell a more reasonable story. Dead men tell no tales and they don't pass out jewelry." Bartowski obviously did not respond well to emergency situations. A clear overview of the situation saved so much time and prevented so much needless aggravation.

"Well, he wasn't dead when he gave it to her. But he died. Anyway, the other guy – the fake police guy – he wanted the locket. He seemed really happy when he got it."

"He got it?" Casey's voice dropped in a throaty growl. "What unspeakably moronic idiot gave the bad guy what he wanted?"

Silence.

"Bartowski?!"

"That idiot would be me. In my defense, it was the only way to save my sister's life!"

Why were civilians so relentlessly foolish? Educating Bartowski would have to wait until after Casey recovered the locket, however. "And then he ran off with it. I ought to have you flogged."

"Flogged?" The other man's voice was almost an octave higher for a moment, but then he recovered. "Yeah, he ran off but not alone. He dragged Sarah off, remember? I was tending to Ellie and then I called you."

"One moment. Stay on the line or I'll practice the new chokehold I just learned on you when I find you. I'm curious how long you'll stay unconscious." Casey was fully awake now. A few keystrokes brought his computer to life and called up the application he needed. "Did she have her car with her?"

"I… I don't know. I think so. She just showed up after I called to –"

"Cut the chitchat. Her car is …" He paused a fraction of a second while his computer worked. "Still moving," he finished.

"Well, where's it going? Track her."

"Patience, Bartowski. Had to put a special tracer on her car that only activates when it receives a signed signal and request has to cool down 45 seconds between queries. She pulled off my regular tracker."

"Oh."

"What's the bad guy look like?"

"Very short. Kind of a horse face. Dark hair. He … uh … he gave me some poison. What do I do with it?"

"Take a swallow. Let me know how it tastes and what the aftertaste is like. The aftertaste is key. Also, make sure you note if it's sweet or bitter."

Casey used the precious moments of silence that followed to think and to enter the suspect's description, such as it was, into his computer. It came back with far too many possibilities, even with the likelihood of poison being involved.

When Bartowski finally found his voice, it was a thin, reedy thing. "Ummm … Casey? You're kidding about drinking it, right?"

"I never kid. You have the antidote, right? It's all part of the tango."

"I'm not drinking this!"

"Finally a smart choice." Casey checked his computer again. "OK, they've stopped moving. Walker's car is at 469 South Downey Road. Does that address ring a bell?"

"Not off the top of my head, but I'm on my way. See you there."

Casey yelled into the phone. "No, you moron. Stay in the car!" But it was too late. Charles Bartowski, the key individual Casey was supposed to protect, was rushing headlong into danger.

Cursing, Casey finished pulling on a pair of pants and ran out to his car. His gun was already under his left armpit, right where it was supposed to be. Additional munitions, if needed, were available in his Crown Vic. He was out of the apartment in twenty seconds flat.

As he sped off to the Downey Road address where Walker's car was, he tried calling Bartowski three separate times. Each time, the idiot's phone went straight to voice-mail. Casey had never had to deal with an asset who rushed headlong into danger. He found the experience unpleasant, to say the least.

**

* * *

**

**Charles's Prius  
6:13 a.m.**

As he drove, Charles turned over in his mind what he was going to do. Sarah was in trouble; that was clear. She needed to be saved; that was just as clear. But could he do it? And if so, how? His mind turned over possibilities, from an impossible-but-thrilling daring rescue to outwitting her captor to simply finding her and freeing her.

A part of his mind focused on the drive. He was near his destination now, with some old-fashioned, semi-decrepit apartments on his right. On his left, ominously, was a large graveyard. Charles's thoughts now turned to why a bad guy would choose to live near a cemetery. He didn't like the reasons he imagined.

Parking was likely to be a problem, but his target, of all the places along the street, was the one that had a private parking area. He pulled his car between two buildings that flanked a narrow alleyway. Their brick walls were dotted with shade awnings and a sign warning that the parking lot was private and violators would be towed. After about twenty feet, the alley suddenly opened up into a small lot. Three spots were open and he pulled into one at random.

As he got out, he spotted a small number painted on the wall in front of his car. It had to be an apartment number. Excitedly, he went over to Sarah's Porsche and examined the wall there. Sure enough, an apartment number was painted in front of it, too. It wasn't guaranteed to be correct, like his own car wasn't parked in the correct spot, but it was the only lead he had.

Charles moved to the front of the building. The complex had a recessed front door and instead of directly entering the niche where it lay, he threw himself against the wall, like he had seen action heroes do on TV. A woman with a jogging stroller saw his behavior and shot him a strange look before turning around to run back the way she'd come. A man walking his Rottweiler simply shifted the dog's leash to his other hand, causing the dog to pass between himself and Charles. Giving them a large, goofy grin, Charles wondered if TV shows might not be the best way to learn the basics of surveillance. Regardless, he crept to the corner and peered around it. Nothing more than a door greeted him.

After rounding the corner, he reached out to open the door, but it was locked. A row of buttons and apartment numbers were available, but he knew that no one was likely to buzz him in. He did find out that he was pursuing someone named Reardon Paine. Unfortunately, that information didn't obviously help him get into the building.

However, Charles had faced locked doors before. In particular, he and Bryce had been challenged by a number of them in their college days. Until they had found a stash of keys, they had perfected an alternate technique. The sidelights around the door should just make it possible. He turned and quickly walked back the way he had come.

Back at his car, Charles rummaged around, eventually finding a plastic "Buy More" bag and enough trash to give it reasonable bulk. Grasping the handles firmly, he returned to the entrance corner and waited, peering from hiding into the building.

Less than a minute after he'd positioned himself, he saw movement inside. He walked up to the door, awkwardly carrying the large bag in both hands, pretending it was heavy. His timing was impeccable.

He had just reached the door and was beginning to lower his package when the door opened. A bald black man in his early forties wearing a dress-casual shirt and pants walked out and, spotting Chuck and the package he carried, held the door open. Charles smiled at him and said "Thanks. I was carrying this stuff for a friend and he said he'd be here to get the door, but I think I was too slow." The last few words were spoken to a bare scene, as the man had disappeared around the corner.

The man didn't even ask Charles if he lived there or why he was going in. If he had, Charles was fully prepared with a story about helping his good friend Reardon carry some stuff in. He was going to throw in complaints about how many cords were required for stereo equipment. In a way, it was disappointing he didn't get to use his excuse.

Putting that aside, he walked to the elevator. It felt like it took forever before the doors opened. He fought to stand calmly while internal voices of nervousness and fear raged at him. Those voices, while loud, weren't enough to drive thoughts of Sarah out of his head. She was just so pretty. He shook his head – that wasn't important right now. His friend was in trouble, and he was going to do his level best to save her. That was all that mattered at that moment.

When the ride ended, he stuck his head carefully through the open doors before slipping out. As he moved carefully through the hallway, Charles finally found the nearly-invisible numbers above each door which identified the apartment. It was more like an old house than an apartment building, but with the numbers found, he could navigate reasonably easily. His target was at the far end of the hallway. Squaring his round shoulders, he moved purposefully towards the door, wishing he'd spent more time on a plan and less on panicking.

The door was unlocked and Charles pulled it open a few inches. His paranoid side wondered why the door would be unlocked. It wasn't unheard of to keep an apartment unlocked, but it was highly unusual. For a criminal mastermind to do so seemed unfathomable. Either he was really cocky or very careless or another explanation had to exist. Charles worried momentarily that the man was more than willing to have uninvited visitors and torture them, but his tone and mannerisms were more that of a gambler or game-player who left a lot to fate. He hoped that was the case.

Regardless of the reason, Charles had two options – enter or leave. Running away wouldn't save Sarah, so he took a deep breath and slipped inside the apartment. Once inside, Charles surveyed the surprisingly large apartment. The entrance foyer opened up in three directions – a dining room/foyer on his left, stairs directly ahead, and a general family room on the right. It was to the right that Charles's eyes were drawn.

Sarah sat there, almost as if waiting for him. She was tied hand and foot to a wooden armchair with duct tape covering her mouth. Her hands were almost directly above her knees, which were bent at a right angle. Everything worked together to force her into almost perfect posture. She wasn't blindfolded, however, and her eyes tracked his fearful progress into the room.

"uck .. wat er yu oing eer?" Even through the gag, he could understand the words. Her eyes helped. In them, he could see hope dancing. That hope was almost overwhelmed by warning and naked fear, however. Charles focused on that glimmer of optimism. He had to, or his own concerns would paralyze him.

"Getting you out of here in one piece. At least, that's the plan." He tiptoed over to her, in his best imitation of every spy movie he'd seen. A more alert individual might have noticed the slight roll of Sarah's eyes, but Charles missed it as he scanned the other entrances into the room. His heart hammered, but he barely noticed, so intent was he on the rescue attempt.

Once he reached Sarah, he reached out a tentative hand. "Should I …?" He made a motion of ripping off the tape. An impatient nod spurred him into action and the sound of tape being removed from flesh filled the air. An angry red mark showed on Sarah's face where the tape had been, but she made no sound as the tape was removed. Since they were now nearly face-to-face, Charles couldn't help seeing her pupils contract, but she didn't cry out in pain, even though he almost did, out of pure sympathy.

"Are you crazy? This guy is dangerous. Get out of here!" she pleaded, careful to keep her voice quiet.

Charles glanced back at her, temporarily slowing his search for some kind of knife or something to free Sarah. "I know. That's why I'm here. I'm here to save you."

"Why?" The words tore from her lips.

Shock and disbelief swam through Charles's features. How could she ask that question? It was obvious, so obvious, words failed him. "Because … because you're my friend and … well, you would do it for me." The wild, haunted look didn't leave her eyes until he added, "I just happen to believe you're worth saving, OK?"

A flicker of emotions passed behind her eyes. Charles wanted to ask what it was, but this was not the time or place. "Did you see where he has a knife or anything?"

"Yeah, my left ankle. I always keep some spare knives there."

Charles fumbled as he pulled her pants leg up. Just as she had said, three sharp blades were contained in a neat black sheath which contrasted with her pale skin. Pulling a knife out and fixing his mind on the importance of not hurting her, he set to work on the nearest ropes, those around her left ankle.

"No, my hand first," she hissed at him, nodding towards her right hand.

He obeyed without thinking. "Do you know why he wanted the locket so badly?"

"Nope. You?" The rope binding the hand finally gave. She grabbed a knife and twisted so she could attack the ropes on her left wrist while Charles knelt down to resume freeing her left leg.

"No idea." In another moment, he freed her left leg. In the meantime, she had freed both her left hand and her right leg.

A new voice interrupted them. "It's really none of your business. You should have quit when you were ahead. Now, I'm afraid this whole affair is going to be your undoing." It was the small man from the hospital that Charles now recognized as Reardon Paine, if the outside information was correct. He stood between them and the exit, pacing slowly from the dining room.

"Chuck," Sarah said in an undertone, with her lips barely moving, "on the count of three, run for the stairs. One, two, three."

They both took off running. Two blades whistled through the air towards Reardon, who tumbled out of the way with a round-off and a back flip. The third knife was still clutched uselessly in Charles's hands.

It remained there as the two of them were pursued up not one, but two flights of stairs. At the top was an emergency door. Charles was gasping for breath by the time they reached it. Sarah paused to listen for sounds of pursuit. All was quiet behind them, but neither of them had heard any sound when he had moved through the apartment earlier. Cats had nothing on this guy.

They looked at the door. It was heavy, fireproof, windowless, and connected to an alarm, but they had no choice. A querying look about preparedness with eyebrows raised passed from Sarah to Charles, who took a deep breath and nodded in return. They burst through the door onto the roof of the building, with the alarm sounding behind them.

The roof was flat, but instead of the usual tar and rock, the owner had gone for the southern California feel and used clay tiles. A two-foot wall surrounded the roof and hid the tile from anyone who wasn't in a helicopter. The door through which Sarah and Charles had entered was part of a low building in the middle of the roof.

Sarah glanced around quickly. "Where's the fire escape?"

Charles also looked at their surroundings. "I don't see one. There's gotta be one. I mean, there was an alarm on the door. I know some older buildings around here aren't up to code but-"

"Quiet. I have to think." Sarah's eyes alit on a particular portion of the roof, sending her running across the uneven surface with Charles in tow. His eyes were paying too much attention to where she was going to see where he was going and a loose tile turned under his left foot. He fell with a cry of pain.

Rushing back, Sarah pulled him to his feet, but he collapsed the moment she stopped supporting his weight. When she pulled him up again, she continued to hold him up. Using her as a crutch, Charles was able to limp the final three steps. It was moderately slow, but he could move with help. That point of roof looked like any other to him, however.

"Damn!" Sarah muttered, eying an adjacent roof about nine feet away, just across the alley Charles had driven through earlier. Her earlier intention now became clear – she had been planning to jump from their building to the other one. Despite the pain, Charles was just as glad he didn't have to attempt that. A bum ankle was a good excuse for cowardice.

Charles turned to look at her seriously. "You can make it. Go on without me."

"No. I'm not leaving you. Besides, I'm supposed to be protecting you. Your life is more important than mine. We both get out … or neither of us does." Sarah's tone was equally somber, though her eyes never ceased their quest for an alternate escape route.

"Very touching!" a voice called out. Its source was seen to be Reardon, who was approaching them across the roof, a fanatical fervor in his eyes. "But in the end, it won't matter," he yelled to them.

Grabbing the knife out of Charles's hands, Sarah warned, "Stay back!"

A disconcerting smile grew larger on their oppressor's face. "I plan to. You see these beakers?" He lifted two large stoppered glass beakers, on in each hand. Of course, they both saw them. "They contain very powerful, fast-acting aerosol poison. I've already taken the antidote, but I don't see any reason to take chances. On the other hand, if you'd like to come in quietly, I won't have to litter glass across this nice rooftop."

Five stories separated them from the ground. A madman stood between them and any form of egress. Charles was injured and Sarah refused to leave him. By situations and by their own choices, they were now well and truly trapped.

_Thoughts/opinions/random remarks?_


	23. Daring Escape

_Thanks to brickroad16 for the beta read. I'm not sure what happened to sharpasamarble, but I hope he's OK. First chapter in the whole story without his touch – I hope it's OK without it._

**Roof of 469 S. Downey Road  
Los Angeles  
6:33 a.m.**

Sarah looked around at all possible escape routes. The door was impossible to reach without passing directly by the man who had kidnapped her. She could make the jump to the other building from a standing start, but there was no way she could get Chuck across the gap without him providing most of the force.

She considered throwing the knife held in her hand. It was perfectly balanced and she knew she would hit a normal target. However, the man was more than typically difficult to hit. More pressingly, the fragility of the beakers containing the poison argued against that course of action. What little breeze blew was wafting in their direction. The amount of poison he carried would cover hundreds of cubic feet, in which they wouldn't have any safe place on the roof, were he to fall and the glass to shatter.

"Do you trust me?" Chuck's voice interrupted her musings, with a surprising and seemingly irrelevant question. He had moved to the small ledge surrounding the roof and was holding his hand out to her.

It was a difficult question to answer under any circumstances. Staring at a man who would poison an innocent woman to get what he wanted made it even more difficult. "W … what?" She shifted her gaze from the small man to Chuck.

"Do you trust me?"

What kind of a question was that? How could she trust him? She barely knew him. Yet, how could she not trust him? But was her trust really worth anything? Even if she trusted him more than any other man in her entire life, which seemed distinctly likely, did she really trust him? How could he ask that of her?

Whatever she had, it would have to be enough. She answered him in a quiet voice unlike her normal confident one, "Yes." It came out almost like a question.

"Then jump!" he yelled and pulled her over the edge of the building.

Five story falls are only occasionally fatal, Sarah knew, but they almost always break bones and incapacitate the faller for months. Her body naturally flattened itself out to evenly distribute the shock of the landing and to minimize the speed of her fall. In slow motion, she saw the sky above and the building passing by near her head. One cloud in particular caught her attention.

As far as she could tell, too, Chuck's plan wouldn't truly help them escape, as they would be helpless at the bottom of the building, where a beaker could easily follow and finish them off. She expected nothing less from her kidnapper.

When the first set of fabric hit her back, knocking the wind out of her, surprise was forefront on her mind. The second impact was less significant and brought a sense of relief and gratitude. They might make it out of this alive after all. The third awning actually halted their plummet entirely, tearing only about a quarter of its length before stopping their fall. The remaining material pushed Charles and Sarah together in its folded embrace.

Frantically, Sarah attacked the strong cords, which had them trapped eight feet from the safety of the ground. Gratitude that she hadn't thrown the knife coursed through her, almost equaling the power of adrenaline. It only took a moment for her razor-sharp blade to part enough fabric for them pass completely through the awning.

With gravity reasserting its dominance, Chuck landed in a heap, grasping his right knee. Beside him, Sarah landed catlike on both feet, her knees dexterously absorbing the shock. "We've got to get away from here," she hissed at Chuck.

His face contorted in pain, he nevertheless nodded. "OK."

Sarah half-supported and half-carried Chuck to the cover of another building. He seemed to be unwilling or unable to put significant weight on either leg. "What's wrong now?" she asked.

"I hit the first awning with my legs first. I think I twisted my knee. But I'm OK." His face told a story very different from his words. Sarah had witnessed many surprising things, but the amount of bravery Chuck was attempting to show topped them all. To her practiced eyes, though, pain and fear were both strongly evident.

"How … how did you know that would work? I always figured that was just a Hollywood trick."

"Mythbusters. All those hours spent watching TV finally paid off." He forced a smile to his lips, but it never reached his eyes. Its duration was brief and then pain resurfaced across his entire expression.

Sarah's training warred with itself. This Reardon fellow was obviously more than a simple kidnapper and poisoner. Few people went to the kind of effort he'd undergone without a very good reason. She knew that she should go try to apprehend him. On the other hand, Chuck was injured. Her primary mission in Los Angeles was to protect him. And it felt so right to just stay with him. Her lack of a significant weapon helped her rationalize her decision to stay, even though she knew it was probably wrong.

"Who was that guy?" she asked him, still struggling with what choice to make.

"Reardon Paine. Apparently, he's the poisoner. Remember that guy who Ellie tried to save a couple nights ago? The one who passed out outside of that sushi place? Apparently, he put a locket in Ellie's sweater before he died. This Reardon guy was adamant about getting it back. He poisoned Ellie to try to get it. And, then, well, I found the locket."

"Chuck, did you …?" Unlike Casey, her voice held understanding and compassion along with the note of warning.

"I did. It was the only way to save Ellie's life. I couldn't just let her die."

It was obvious Reardon valued the locket for a lot more than its street price. At least, that's the way it seemed from her brief glimpse. She didn't try to fully muffle a sigh, before she spoke. "Any idea why he wanted the locket so much? Did it look valuable?" She was wasting time, she knew. Paine could be preparing all kinds of surprises while she dithered. Or he could simply be escaping with his prize.

"Not really. But it might have something valuable inside. I couldn't open it."

A ghost of pain crossed Chuck's face, which seemed to be getting progressively greyer and focused inwards. "Are you sure you're OK?" she asked.

"I … I don't know. This whole experience has kinda freaked me …. I just need some time to think."

"Well, I should go try to catch Reardon."

She didn't leave. Chuck didn't protest.

They were both still there twenty minutes later when they were found by John Casey, who was in a glowering temper.

"What's the matter, Major?" Sarah asked him.

Barely constrained anger boiled under the surface. Violence seemed a distinct possibility. "You. You're the problem. You let the bad guy get away with the locket. I've been through that entire building and there's no sign of him or the locket. I ought to arrest you right now."

Sarah stared back at him and replied, with barely restrained anger in her voice. "I was doing my job, protecting the asset. I'm not the one who sent him -"

Chuck interrupted, "Uh, guys? Do you think you could get me to the hospital? My knee isn't getting any better just lying here on the ground."

The two agents glared at each other for another moment before they got to work.

**

* * *

**

**Director Graham's Office  
5:50 p.m. (California time – 8:50 DC time)**

General Beckman was prompt, as always. She had arrived thirty seconds before the call's scheduled start with her hair immaculate and walking with military precision. It was the only way Arthur Graham had ever seen her, even at so-called informal mixers between the two organizations.

The call to Major Casey's secured phone took a few seconds to connect and establish all the necessary protocols for video information exchange. When the screen cleared from black, both Casey and Sarah Walker were visible, sitting with drawn blinds behind them. Both wore rather serious expressions.

Their countenances darkened even further as the general began speaking. "We were able to determine that the first dead man was named Mason Whitney. He used to work for our nuclear program. He left under … inauspicious circumstances. It is believed that he took some of the activation codes for missiles when he left."

Graham took up the narrative. "The second man, the one who **you** let escape, goes by many names, including Reardon Paine. He is an ex-Olympic gymnast who has turned into an information conduit. He finds secrets and sells them to the highest bidder. We've been trying to capture him for over eighteen months."

Agent Walker interrupted. "Then the locket…"

The head of the NSA finished, "…probably contains nuclear activation codes, yes. The world is now a significantly more dangerous place. Explain yourselves."

Casey's voice was as stiff as his spine. "My report explains that the man and all trace of him were gone by the time I arrived. I never saw him, and he left no evidence as to his eventual destination. He's a real pro. We never saw him coming."

Walker's explanation was less comprehensive and felt a tiny bit evasive. "My report is also complete. I was held at needle-point and taken to his apartment. Chuck Bartowski came in and freed me. During our escape, he was injured. My orders are clear, that maintaining the safety of the asset comes before anything else, including tracking unknown entities. Had I known of Mr. Paine's situation earlier, I would have acted differently."

Arthur shared a look with Beckman. He spoke. "And how did Mr. Bartowski find you?"

"I don't know."

Casey, surprisingly, volunteered the explanation. "I told him. As per policy, I had installed a GPS locator on Agent Walker's vehicle. I let slip her location to the asset, who had a significant lead on me."

The CIA agent looked surprised. "I thought I removed that."

A grim smile met her announcement. "The first one, sister, but you didn't see this one. And I've not found even an attempt on my car."

"That's because your stupid GPS locator is already built-in. All I had to do was find the tracking number and you've been trivial to locate! Not just for me but for anyone with half a br—"

Beckman cut her off. "That's enough! The simple facts of the case are that you let a known terrorist dealer get away with our nuclear secrets. Or am I misrepresenting things?"

"No, ma'am." The two were equally crest-fallen.

Graham continued the questioning, "Any news on the poison he used or the antidote? We can at least salvage a sliver of good from this mission if we can learn something of that."

Casey, again, answered. "Paine cleared out his apartment well. I found plenty of broken glass and running water in the sink. No trace of the poisons he used. The vial Bartowski gave his sister was washed out, too."

Walker turned to look at her NSA counterpart. "There was one other set of poison and antidote."

He looked back at her, the light dawning. "You're right."

"What are you two talking about?" Beckman demanded.

Walker answered this time. "We do know of one other vial of purported poison and antidote, but we're not sure of its current location."

"Become sure." Beckman's voice was iron-hard. "And no more screw-ups, clear?"

"Yes, ma'am." Both pointed their eyes down as they answered.

"Enough of that." Graham sighed. "I suppose you two did the best you could, given the circumstances. While we have you on the line, though, we have another question." He waited for them to look up and meet his gaze, which didn't take even a second. "What is your opinion of Mr. Bartowski?"

With his head cocked to the side, John Casey resembled a man searching for words, which was highly unusual for him. He normally had a stock answer ready for any query. "Permission to speak freely?" he asked.

"Of course." Beckman replied.

"He's a moron with no sense of proportion. He rushes to save others without considering the effects of his actions. His judgment seems highly limited. His leadership skills are soft and orders too easily subverted. If it weren't for his own work ethic, BarLar would be in trouble."

Noting Graham and Sarah's shocked looks, Beckman chimed in. "Let me translate. That means, he's a raw civilian who tremendous potential. He's someone Agent Casey could see working with, but he lacks requisite training and discipline. If I didn't know better, I'd suspect a touch of admiration for his handling of people and the way he drives himself."

Sitting up even straighter, which Graham hardly believed possible, Casey replied through tight lips. "That's what I said."

Suppressing a grin, the CIA director turned to his agent. "Your opinion?"

"He saved my life today. Probably twice. For no other reason than my life was in danger. He was brave and was able to think on his feet. Now, his physical … I hate to even call them abilities … are practically non-existent. Even with that failing, I'd … I'd be proud to call him partner."

It was only years of training and discipline that kept Graham's mouth from gaping open. Such a glowing report from Agent Walker was essentially unheard of. Their potential plan for Mr. Bartowski seemed more possible than it had for several weeks.

His counterparts' thoughts were apparently following the same track. She asked, "And liabilities?"

Casey took that one. "His wife. And strong connections with his family which could be exploited. But his wife is the biggest problem."

Graham had the last words. "Very well. Continue to monitor the situation and let us know if anything changes." He then cut the call.

Turning to Beckman, he asked her, "Do we proceed with our plans to test him as a potential human repository for Intersect files?"

"I think we have to. We'll not get more positive feedback from agents in the field. But we need to take things slowly and cautiously. Dr. Zarnow has warned me repeatedly about the dangers of exposing him to too many images."

"Agreed. Though, as we've discussed, we must wait until after he completes the cipher. I mean, it was only due to his improvements that we were able to track down today's … failure … so quickly."

With that agreement in place, General Beckman left and the CIA director turned his attention to other matters.

**

* * *

**

**Charles's Prius  
8:48 p.m.**

Charles sat in the passenger seat of his own car. Sarah Walker was driving, and her whining over the lack of power in the vehicle had finally ceased. The man found it safe to speak again. "Thanks, again, for giving me a ride home. I'd be OK, though."

"Chuck, you can hardly walk. Driving a stick shift could cripple you for life."

"The doctors said it was just a mild strain. They said movement would be good for me."

"After 24 hours, they said. Besides, I wanted to …." She trailed off without finishing her thought.

"But how will you get home?"

"Oh, I'll just take a cab. Don't worry about me."

Charles did worry, but he didn't care to argue the point. He was more worried about other things – like where his train of thought was taking him. It wasn't a comfortable place, but he couldn't deny the truth of his feelings.

He was so deep in his own mind that Sarah's soft "Thank you for saving my life" didn't really register.

"I'm sorry," he replied. "What did you say? I'm a little lost in my own thoughts right now."

"Oh, nothing." accompanied a brief, thin smile. She paused to concentrate on the road for a minute or so. "Anything you want to share?"

Charles spoke slowly, seemingly choosing his words carefully. "You know, when you think you're gonna die and your whole life is supposed to flash in front of you? That didn't exactly happen for me today, in fact. Mostly, it was … just a list that I saw – a list of stuff I haven't done and things that I haven't had a chance to say, so now…. Now I want to start crossing things off of my list."

No verbal response was forthcoming from Sarah, though she was very clearly interested in what he had to say. But he didn't feel like explaining all his plans to her. She might figure in them – and he really hoped she did – but he had to acknowledge that she might not. The first step was clear, however. He had to divorce Jill.

As they pulled into the driveway, Charles was just deciding to stay up as long as possible to talk to Jill. It couldn't wait. It had to happen that night. He felt … inspired, as he patted his breast pocket.

"Thanks for the ride."

"No problem."

He left her in the driveway as he limped into his house, full of determination. He wasn't quite sure how to broach the topic, but he figured he would have some time to figure it out before Jill arrived home.

He was wrong. Jill was waiting near the door. They looked at each other for a moment before either spoke. Charles started, "We need to talk."

At the exact same moment, Jill also said "We need to talk." The moment was shockingly real and genuine, it reminded him so powerfully of good times together that his resolve wavered for more than a moment. They had had so many good times together. Maybe he should put forth one more effort to make it work.

A broad grin split his face. She always could make him smile. That had to be worth something, didn't it? Chivalrously, he motioned to her. "Ladies first. Please, what's on your mind?"

Jill took a deep breath. "Charles," she said slowly and clearly, enunciating each word carefully, "I'm pregnant."

_You. Yeah, you at the keyboard. No, not you in the back. You. Yeah. Review. You know you want to. Let me know what's on your mind as regards the story._


	24. Goodbye, Jill?

_Thanks to brickroad16 and my new beta reader, TwotoTenth, for their insightful comments and suggestions._

**Charles Bartowski's House  
****November 14  
9:02 p.m.**

Charles couldn't believe his ears. "You're … you're what?"

"Pregnant! We're going to have a baby!" Jill tried to make the pronouncement seem exciting.

She did not succeed.

"_We_? No, _we_ are not going to have a baby. We haven't done anything that could possibly lead to a baby – not in a very long time. You may be having a baby, but I definitely am not. Who's the father, anyway? Is it Bryce?"

She winced slightly and looked him directly in the eyes before answering. "Maybe."

"Maybe? How many guys could it be?" As soon as he said it, he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

"Two or three …" Jill took a deep breath before continuing, "… dozen." She even managed to sound crestfallen.

Disconsolately, Charles groped his way into the living room, his eyes strangely unable to focus. "I think I need to sit down." He plopped onto one part of the couch, but he didn't stay long. "No … Wait, yeah, I do need to sit. But I need something to drink. Tea! That's it. I need some tea." He wandered into the kitchen, oblivious to his surroundings and his own emotional state.

Physical shock, like the one Charles had experienced earlier in the day, affects everyone differently. The one universal constant in every reaction is that recovery takes longer than twenty-four hours. This meant that the full force of Jill's revelations hit an already-weakened man. Charles wandered around the kitchen for a few minutes, trying and failing to make any sort of sense out of the massive chunks of his life that were collapsing around him. He had no idea what to do. Right and wrong were rapidly losing all meaning, and he struggled to know which direction was up.

In the brief time it took to prepare two cups of tea, Charles recovered just enough to start considering his next move. His hand strayed to his vest pocket and pulled out the two vials stashed there. He knew which one supposedly made people tell the truth. The truth was what he really needed right now. But could he be that guy? As he stared at the vial in his right hand, his left strayed towards the stopper.

Ultimately, it took just a moment to decide. He did the only thing he could before walking back into the living room. Jill accepted her tea without hesitation and took a sip. Charles drank his slowly, too. The calm, repetitive action helped calm his nerves.

"Jill," he said suddenly, finding her eyes with his, "how … how did this happen? Listen to me. 'This'! What is 'this'? I don't even know what happened. What's going on?"

She looked at him placidly, but he saw, more than ever, fear and loneliness bursting to get out.

So he spoke again. "Look, I know it's not … not my baby. That would be physically impossible, what with … with the way our relationship's been lately. So why don't you tell me all about it?"

A sob wracked her thin frame, and then she began to speak, addressing a spot on the carpet. Her voice was a dead monotone, which made what she said all the more painful for her husband to hear. "It started a long time ago, back when you were first working on getting BarLar going. Guy, you know, my boss? Anyway, he asked me out for a drink. I told him 'no', because I thought it was inappropriate, but I didn't think too much about it, at first. I was new in my job, too, and I didn't want to make waves.

"I thought when I said 'no' that time, it would be over, but it wasn't. He kept asking, at all the worst times – always when things weren't perfect with us. Three days into your three-week disaster recovery, he stopped by my office again. He told me how pretty I looked and how sad. He invited me to a small company party at his house that night. I was lonely and I still didn't have many friends, so I said I would go. It seemed a good chance to get to know people.

"I should have asked around, seen if anybody else was going, but I didn't. It was just me. Or, at least, I don't remember seeing anybody else there. I got there and Guy was dressed casually, like it was going to be a dinner party, kinda like we have at Ellie's sometimes. He got me a drink and we started talking.

"It wasn't long until we were sitting on the couch, side by side. I felt his hand on my thigh. It felt right. It was wrong, I know, but it felt right. Does that make any sense?" She looked away from the floor where her eyes had been fixed and looked at Charles.

For his part, Charles gulped a bit before speaking. "You said he gave you something to drink?"

"Drink? What does that …? Oh, crap. Do you think he drugged me? Why didn't I think of that? And I work at a pharmaceutical company!" She sipped her tea after she was done speaking.

"I guess I'm just hyper-sensitive to that right now." He could sense the guilt in his own voice, but Jill was too lost in her own thoughts to notice.

"Whatever the reason may be, when he came on to me, I … I didn't stop him. Not that I probably could have. He seemed pretty intent on his actions. That was the first time we … he and I … well, slept together. It got worse from there. He started to ask me over more frequently. I don't know why, exactly, but I went.

"In those days, my feelings were all over the map. Some days, I was so angry at what he was doing, I dreamed about getting a gun and killing him. Sometimes, I'll admit, I was flattered that he found me so attractive that he kept inviting me over. Mostly, though, I was just confused. I was in over my head and I knew it, but I didn't know how to get out. I just hid from everything. I even hid from you.

"The first time he invited over a friend, I was so embarrassed, I thought I was going to die. But I didn't know how to say 'stop' at that point. I … I just went along with it." She blushed a little. "In some ways, it was kind of nice, I have to admit.

"That night, though, I almost told you what was going on. I wanted to, but…." She trailed off.

Despite his mounting horror and revulsion, Charles found that compassion was easy to project. Despite everything, Jill was still a person so he replied with his characteristic understanding, "You didn't know where to begin. Or how I would react. And you were afraid."

Jill nodded. "Exactly. After that, it just kept snowballing. Guy's my boss. If I refused anything he asked or was late or anything, I got lousy assignments and blocked on requests for materials. It was just so much easier to try to keep him happy. And, when he was happy, I got great things at work.

"One time, he even threatened to fire me. I don't know if he really would have, but it came at a time when you were in a real dry spell and the only money we had was what I was making. It absolutely terrified me. So I went along with him. Everything he said. It just became easier to not think about it and do whatever he asked, whenever he asked it.

Her voice became even more distant and ethereal. "It wasn't always easy, though. I don't know if you remember planning a weekend get-away for us. You were going to take me the mountains. I remember being so excited about it. You were, too. Anyway, somehow Guy found out about it. He came to my office that Friday afternoon and told me I wasn't going.

"I argued with him some. I hadn't stood up to him in a long time, but I really wanted to go. He told me that if I went or even told you why I didn't go, not only would I be fired, he would share pictures with my family and yours. The pictures, they … I didn't know they took pictures. I was … I couldn't let anyone see those pictures. I did the only thing I could. I called and cancelled.

"After that, it got so hard to see you. I could tell you were crushed. I knew it was my fault, so I tried to drive you away. If I couldn't see you, I wouldn't have to face how much you were hurting. I lashed out. I see now what a mistake that was."

Charles's brow furrowed. "So why did you still come to Ellie's family dinners? Why the charade at the sushi restaurant?"

"Guy's idea. I don't really know why. He and his group told me to go to any large family functions. Maintain good appearances. It never occurred to me to ask why. As … as for the sushi restaurant … at times … the thing is, I never stopped loving you. That was one of the many times I thought I could maybe tell you what was going on. But then I thought of losing everything I have here. My job, my reputation, you…. I got scared, so I didn't go through with it."

"And Bryce?" Charles managed to squeeze out. "What was that all about?"

"Guy's idea, as usual. He seems to find the idea of making your life miserable exciting. So we set up a camera in the bedroom. I was never to have sex with you but to try to lure other guys into our bed. I got rather good at it."

With his eyes closed and his voice struggling to find any range between too-quiet whisper and deafening roar, Charles continued to try to understand. "So why are you telling me all this now? What's changed?"

His wife's eyes and voice competed to see which could be wilder. It was the first real emotion she'd shown in the entire exchange. "What changed?!? I'm having a baby. Don't you understand? I can feel her inside me already. I love her. And they want me to give her up. They want me to kill her and rip her out of me. I won't do it. They took everything else, but I am NOT letting them take my baby! I won't. I won't! I WON'T!"

Uncomfortably, Charles moved closer and pulled Jill gingerly to his shoulder, where she bawled uncontrollably. It took more than half an hour for her to cry herself out. No communication beyond awkward pats and muttered "there, there"s occurred in that time. Charles felt strangely disconnected from his mind and body – like he was watching the whole scene as an impartial viewer. It was all too surreal. But no matter how far or how often it strayed, his mind always returned to the feeling of near-death and his list.

Finally, Jill hiccoughed and drew a deep, halting breath. Pulling herself away, she looked at Charles again, intently. "I'm sorry. You had something you wanted to say, earlier. What was it?" She dabbed at her puffy face, trying to put on the semblance of caring.

It was his turn to find a way to say the almost unspeakable. Could he say what he needed to say, after everything she had just told him? Could he not say it? He knew, deep down, if he didn't act soon, he probably never would. He thought about the new friends and co-workers he had and how they handled adversity. If they could do it, he could, too. He owed it to himself.

Picking his words with far more than his customary care, he started speaking. "I … I don't quite know how to start this. You're not the only one who has had to come face-to-face with some … some demons today. Ellie almost died this morning. That and …." He broke off. Somehow, telling her that he'd almost died seemed out-of-place and unimportant to her, so he changed his words a bit. "... and some other things, well, they've made me ask myself some really hard questions. About my own life and what I'm doing with it. About whether I'm happy. About regrets."

"No, Charles, don't, please…" Jill apparently had an idea of what was coming.

"I came home today intending to … to tell you I was planning on getting a … a divorce. I didn't know … why you were so withdrawn and so … so mean to me, I just knew … I knew that I couldn't take it anymore. I deserve better."

"Oh, yes, you do. And I can-"

"Please, just let me finish." It took all of Charles's self-control to not scream and rant and go running away from the world, especially this painful conversation. But he had learned in the business world that, sometimes, you just have to power through bad situations. He'd never faced anything as bad as this, naturally, but that ability to power through unpleasantness came to his rescue. Setting his face, he knew he would face this head-on. Then, and only then, could he go in search of the escape he so desperately wanted.

Jill nodded mutely, so Charles continued. "And now I know your story. I've heard the words about how you let yourself be dragged into a horrible situation. And I feel sorry for you, Jill, I really do." His voice had been soft and full of compassion; now it hardened perceptibly. "But you never trusted me. You never came to me with this. Even now, it's not about me, it's still about you. It's about you and your bastard baby."

"Charles, what are-"

"I'm saying," he spoke over her, feeling the adrenaline from his near-death experience returning, "that I still want a divorce. This sob story you told, it's probably even true. But it doesn't matter. If you had to come to me originally, or any time for me … or for us …, I … I don't know, I probably would have forgiven you. Sleeping with other guys? It's terrible; it's wrong. But I could maybe get past that, with counseling and a lot of effort.

"Being needlessly mean to me? That's a harder issue. I don't know about that one. Maybe. But the key … the key fact here is your selfishness and your focus on no one but yourself. And I just can't look past that anymore, Jill. Life is too short and too precious. I'm contacting a lawyer tomorrow."

Charles stood up, feeling strangely detached from everything, including the sobbing lump that was no longer his wife in anything but name. Leaving the house, he got into his car and just drove. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew his decision was final and that he couldn't look at Jill any longer – not that night. Her story had horrified him. She horrified him.

He also needed time to think. He'd meant what he'd said. Divorce was the only recourse, but it hurt him to think that he had failed. What Jill had done bothered him more than he cared to admit, even to himself. Was he the only one who meant his marriage vows? Was the world just evil?

No. The day's events notwithstanding, Charles just couldn't bring himself to believe that the world was entirely evil. Good did exist. Fighting evil was something that could be done.

His own actions of the day also went across his mind – what he had done, what he hadn't done, the deals he had made. How could he judge his own actions? Was he right or wrong? Fighting evil or being evil? Did the ends justify the means? What was he to do?

His mind returned to the nature of evil, as he drove with no conscious destination in mind. Was Jill evil? It was so difficult to say. She had clearly done some things that he would classify as evil – the worst being her treatment of him. It was unconscionable. Or so it seemed at that moment. Even if she wasn't evil, in some kind of intrinsic way, he couldn't stay with her any more. Could he?

Barely realizing what he was doing, Charles parked his car. He walked to the house where he'd stopped and knocked. No one answered. He knocked more insistently. Eventually, the door opened a crack. "Chuck, what is it?" Morgan asked, peering out bleary-eyed.

"Call of Duty. Now."

"Alright!" At least one of them was excited.

As the night passed, Charles saw a lot of different faces on his enemies in Call of Duty. He saw Jill's face frequently. Her boss showed up almost as often. Paine's face appeared occasionally, too. And … he saw his own face, too. Remorselessly, he shot them all. His fingers hurt, his knee throbbed, his eyes were red and bloodshot, but it didn't matter. Nothing could stand before him and he relentlessly mowed down opponent after opponent, finding calm in the virtual carnage.

Morgan, for his part, really came through. The little bearded man spoke very rarely, and when he did, it was of trivialities – getting a drink, pointing out a sniper Charles had missed, offering to tape up fingers. That silent companionship and camaraderie was exactly what Charles needed.

By morning, Charles was seeing a lot of things more clearly. Not physical things, because he hadn't blinked enough or slept at all. No, it was the metaphysical and the moral that had come into sharp focus. How did a man judge good and evil in such times? As he has ever judged, because good and ill have not changed since yesteryear; nor are they one thing among normal men and women and another among government agents. It is a man's part to discern them, as much in life-and-death situations as in his own house. That sentiment reassured him significantly.

He drove to work that morning smiling slightly. The world may still be in chaos, but his personal world was as calm as he could remember. Walking in, he went straight to Casey's desk, not even slowing as he crossed the non-physical boundary the other man had established.

"What do you want, Bartowski?" Casey growled at him. "Here to ruin my day again?"

"Hopefully not." Charles felt good and let that smile show on his face. "I just thought these might be useful." He placed the two vials Reardon Paine had given him just one day ago onto the NSA man's desk. They were still sealed exactly as he had received them. "I certainly don't need them."

His grin faltered when Casey responded, "About time you turned these in. And if you ever walk into my space like that again, we'll find out how well you go through a real wall."

Even Casey's irascibility couldn't shake his calm that morning, though. Shaking his head slightly, Charles strolle to his office. Before he could took the nap he so desperately needed, he picked up his phone and called his lawyer.

_Now you know Jill's story. Worth the wait?_


	25. Progress

_Thanks to TwotoTenth and brickroad16 for beta reads – LONG LONG ago. Thanks to a few individuals who have kindly asked about my status. Your words of question and hope and praise were inspirational._

**BarLar, Inc.  
****November 29  
****5:38 p.m.**

Sarah walked through the seemingly deserted office building wondering how and when anything got done. It had been her distinct impression that most small high-tech companies started work around noon and persevered late into the night. BarLar, it seemed, sputtered to the typical midday start, and failed to make up for the lost time by working late. Sarah was still mystified as to how they ever met a deliverable goal.

She was supposed to be meeting Bryce for a cover date. With his lack of family and intimate friends, the need for such things was small, but they tried to keep up appearances at least every few weeks. Fake dating Bryce was good for her to keep honing her cover techniques, as well as helping to break up the boredom of Sarah's life. She kept telling herself those things, even though she had grown to detest Bryce's constant advances. However, just like most of his coworkers, her supposed date had left the building. In fact, the only person in the entire space was Chuck Bartowski.

Irritated though she was at Bryce for blowing her off, Sarah was more grateful for some time alone with Chuck. Since his rescue of her almost two weeks ago, he had barely spoken two words to her. Although she could sympathize with his reluctance to be around someone he likely now associated with fear and death, that wasn't an acceptable situation for their relationship. Professionally or personally.

Still, she was a bit hesitant as she knocked on the door of his office, not wanting to interrupt anything important to the larger mission. "Chuck?" she asked.

He looked up quickly and a broad smile split his face. It only lasted a moment, however, as he immediately put on a mask of cool disinterest that wouldn't have fooled a rookie straight out of the academy. "Sarah. What can I do for you?" Emotions were present in that voice, but her own were too strong for her to pick out what his might be.

"Officially, I'm looking for Bryce. We're supposed to have a … cover date tonight." She emphasized the word _cover_ much more than was strictly necessary.

"Officially?" Raised eyebrows accompanied the question. "And unofficially?"

"Well, since he's not here, I thought maybe you would tell me why you've been avoiding me." She carefully maintained her position by the door, to not threaten him… and to give her the chance to flee if she needed to.

"Well … it's this thing with Jill. Since I ..." he swallowed hard and continued, "… I sued for divorce, she's decided to try to get everything. According to my lawyer, she's claiming that I've been unfaithful. I think she even has a private detective following me. Being seen with you … as much as I need someone to talk to right now … the price is just awfully high."

A wave of relief washed over Sarah. Until that moment, she hadn't realized how much she feared that he was rejecting her as everyone else in her life had. His reason made perfect sense. Fortunately, it was both short-term and easy to circumvent. Plus, it gave her another appealing idea.

As a smile crept over her face, she replied, "A private investigator, huh? That shouldn't be too difficult to verify and to do something about. It might make spending time together even more interesting."

Again, a hopeful smile appeared on his face in response, but it also faded as he looked at her again, replaced by that slightly haunted visage she'd seen before – the fear of death. Her voice was strong, though. "You'd do that for me? I've tried talking to Casey, but … well, a normal person just can't talk to him. And I can't really talk about your job and nearly dying with Ellie. It … it just wouldn't be right. But I really need to talk."

"Of course I would." She couldn't say the rest, about how she had missed him, about how she wished Washington didn't have to stay in Washington. That might come, but it couldn't be just yet.

"Thank you." His smile was genuine and didn't fade this time. "I would really like that. When?"

Sarah thought for a minute. "Give me a couple days to follow your follower and I'll set something up. Let's say next Wednesday."

"Then it's a date."

As Sarah walked out, she didn't think it was really a date, not the way she was somewhat surprised to realize she wanted. But it was progress. And, progress, however slow, was a good thing.

**

* * *

Creim Macias Koenig & Frey LLP  
****Los Angeles  
****December 1  
****2:27 p.m.**

Richard Macias opened his mail in a weary sort of way. He had become good friends with Charles Bartowski when they'd worked together to set up BarLar, but he was out of his element in divorce proceedings. Since Charles was his good friend, he'd agreed to handle the case, but he was leaning heavily on professional contacts in other firms with the stickier details of the case (of which there were far too many). His own expertise was in business law and he had been instrumental in helping BarLar meet all the California codes and in gaining a couple software patents. Family law was another matter entirely.

Charles's reluctance to provide details on why he wanted the divorce and his wife's insistence that her body was her own complicated things. The former made filing the divorce papers difficult and led to problems with the settlement. The latter made it difficult to do genetic testing on the unborn child, which could potentially prove infidelity and make his life easier. That obstacle could possibly be circumvented, were it not for an additional complication

That additional complication took the form of a no-necked bulldog of an attorney whom Jill had hired. An old hand at divorce proceedings, his legal opponent rarely let a day pass without breaking out some new wrinkle or precedent that would ruin Richard's evening. Frankly, despite the friendship and the generous pay, he was beginning to regret taking the case.

He scanned through the mail, searching for the daily obstacle. Sure enough, one envelope contained the note 'In regards to the Charles Bartowski divorce case' and a generic USB drive. Without any thought about the possible contents, he plugged the thumb drive into his computer and opened the first file.

It was a movie and he didn't see its relevance to the case, at first. It started with seven men sitting in an upper-class living room. Everything became clear as Mrs. Bartowski entered the camera's frame and kissed one of the men firmly on the lips. Richard didn't recognize the man, but it was clearly not his friend Charles. Mrs. Bartowski only stayed in the shot long enough to prove that kissing wasn't all she had planned.

He didn't bother to watch all of the movies at that time (though he planned to watch them many times eventually – an unexpected perk of his profession). It didn't take long to determine they showed the same time period from multiple angles. Scanning and watching brief snippets confirmed the goldmine contained therein. Easy on the eyes though she was, Mrs. Bartowski was in no way a nice girl. And now he had proof.

With fingers trembling in joy, Richard dialed the phone. "Law Offices of Grossman and Mahan," came the perky response.

"This is Mr. Macias. I need to speak to Mr. Grossman about the Bartowski divorce case."

"Certainly, sir. He'd informed me you might be calling today. Let me check if he's available." Silence filled a few seconds while Richard continued to scan the video files gleefully.

"Grossman here." The man's nasal voice still grated, but its annoyance was lessened by the inside straight flush Richard had managed to draw with his seemingly motley collection before today's mail.

"I received a most interesting package in the mail today. I was wondering if you had seen it."

"I got a copy yesterday. I have some forensics experts examining the video. Until they tell me it wasn't faked or manipulated, I have nothing to say to you. We know your boy is a computer whiz, so we're going over this with a fine-toothed comb."

"Have you shown it to your client or asked her about it?"

"I see no reason to upset Mrs. Bartowski any further."

"Fair enough. But I think a judge will just love this." Richard was having more fun than he had in years. Tipping the scales of an impossible case with an even-more-improbable anonymous tip beat filling out another 37-page form any day. Even when the other man hung up, Richard's smile remained undiminished. He checked the envelope, but it had no return address and the mail stamp was local. Charles obviously would not have sent something so explicit, but whoever had sent it obviously had his interests in mind. Truly, progress can come from even the most unlikely of sources.

He whispered a quick "Thank you" to whoever was responsible for the unexpected gift and picked up another form. Maybe he'd even be able to squeeze in a little work on his normal practice today.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
****December 3  
****4:44 p.m.**

Charles kicked off the performance test with a flourish across his keyboard. He felt really good about the probable results, though nothing would be certain until the test program completed successfully.

Earlier that morning, he had finally experienced the "Eureka!" moment he'd been seeking. Everything had snapped into focus and it had allowed him to modify the image-matching code in a way that he was certain would not only correctly identify all the images but would also speed up the code.

Charles had put the finishing touches on his modified image location code mere minutes before Anna's announcement of her breakthrough on the communication bottleneck between the processors. The two techniques had merged together perfectly, with his improvements fitting into her communication framework smoothly. In fact, they seemed to feed off of each other, making the combination more effective than he could have hoped. A number of small-scale tests had only ramped up his excitement, but the test he was starting now would be the true indication.

While it ran, nervous excitement kept the CEO from being able to stay in his chair. He went in search of Bryce, to see how the other remaining hurdle was coming along. Charles's partner had been working primarily alone on his portion of the project. A quick check would only be appropriate and would help the time pass more quickly. Once Charles reached the other office, he peeked in and opened the conversation with a quick, "Hey, Bryce. How's it going?"

A weary smile greeted his question, but the words were much more positive. "Pretty good. Still figuring out all the failsafes, but I think I've got this self-destruct mechanism nailed. Oddest requirement ever."

"I didn't hear you complaining when you were off testing the explosives. In fact, I seem to recall just the opposite."

A true smile now appeared on Bryce's face, in answer to Charles's. "You have a point, my friend. That was a fun part. Making sure they only go off when they're **supposed** to is not nearly as much fun." He sighed. "I guess it's part of the job."

Charles nodded and left. He completely missed the haunted look that crossed Bryce's face a few seconds later such was his haste to return to his office.

The numbers on his screen were almost too good to be true. He'd been hoping for such results, but seeing them on-screen in black and white pixels made them seem real. Only prior experience with the test he had run allowed him to dream the results were real. Speed, accuracy, cross-referencing – they all seemed to be working beautifully. The processors they were modeling weren't exactly off-the-shelf or simple to produce, but it seemed quite possible for an entity like the government to actually build the system.

It seemed they had achieved the impossible and made an effective CIPHER. Progress, Charles mused, was a funny thing. It often came in unexpected leaps of immense size.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
****December 5  
****2:27 p.m.**

Morgan didn't even hesitate as he walked into Chuck's office. They had grown a little apart in the 'dark years', as Morgan considered Chuck's married life, but the last several weeks had brought the dynamic duo back together, stronger than ever. It's not as though the small man would have ever knocked, but it made him feel very good to feel invited to enter without announcing himself. The only damper on his enthusiasm was his friend's conspicuous absence from his office. Morgan was sure his buddy was around, because he'd been there when the small man arrived. But he couldn't find him in his office.

He stopped by Jeff's cube, because there was no chance of interrupting work there. "Hey, man, have you seen the boss?"

"Charles?" slurred out. "Not recently. Have you checked the can?"

Morgan tried there next, but his friend wasn't to be found – the place was empty. So he went in search of Anna, who seemed to generally be the most aware of goings-on. "Hey," he said, sticking his head into the opening at the front of her cubicle, "do you know where Chuck is?"

Anna barely glanced up from her screen. "In his office, I imagine. Somebody has to do the work around here and I can only do so much. We're getting close to nailing down the final details on the CIPHER prototype. There are a ton of details and most of it is stuff only Chuckles understands, anyway. But there's plenty for all of us to do. So why aren't you working?"

Morgan affected a bad British medieval accent. "Afternoon break, m'lady. I endeavored to challenge our fearless leader to a bout of Mortal Kombat. Alas, my quarry eluded me. Mayhaps it were best he was not around. Forsooth, without a lady's standard, I would have been lost."

"A lady's standard?" Anna said, with feigned surprise and real interest. "Why, whatever did you have in mind?"

"A garment, something close to her heart. Or, you know, any symbol that he had won her …" his eyes traced down her body to just above her short skirt's hemline, which made her giggle, before he concluded with "… favor."

Anna stood up and walked around her desk to where Morgan stood. "What kind of damsel in distress would I be, if I let my knight in shining armor approach a dragon without properly preparing him?" She ran her fingers through his hair and walked away, flipping her dangerously short skirt at him provocatively.

Naturally, he followed. When he finally resumed his search for Chuck, a good hour later, wearing a huge smile and underwear distinctly lacier than he had been earlier, his friend was easy to find. Strangely, Chuck also had a smile on his face, though more muted than his own. Morgan expected him to be depressed. When he broke up with his last serious girlfriend (in seventh grade), he had moped for three years before asking anybody else out. That rejection cost him another two years.

Part of Morgan had secretly been hoping for and almost expecting another couple years of moping and video gaming. Apparently, it wasn't meant to be. The Chuck of today, if anything, looked happier and more content than the Chuck of three months ago. Given the unexpected change, Morgan briefly considered asking Chuck what kind of underwear he had on. He decided on a less disturbing introductory question.

"Where were you this afternoon?"

Chuck looked up in surprise. "I had … some … errands to run. Why? Did you need me?"

Morgan definitely noticed the pauses, but he didn't know their significance. "Nah, man, I was just looking to fill your time with some Mortal Kombat. I thought you could use the pick-me-up. Guess not."

"Not today, buddy. Maybe some other day. Now, I gotta get back to work."

As Morgan walked back to the front office and his newest porn sites, he mused about how a man's progress is completely unpredictable. It was good to see Chuck in such a good place, but that kind of quick rebound from his pending divorce was completely unexpected.

**

* * *

BarLar, Inc.  
****December 6  
****8:00 a.m.**

Casey sat down at his desk to begin another day of cross-referencing all the facts of the case in the BarLar information leak. His net kept expanding as he pursued not only the activities of the BarLar employees but of all of their semi-frequent contacts and their contacts' contacts, too.

It was painstaking, tedious work, only occasionally aided by the computers and technicians in Fort Meade. Mostly, it was an obscene amount of reading, cross-checking, and looking for patterns in chaos. Casey was one of the best at this part of the job, like he was at all parts. It wasn't a part he particularly relished, but it was his responsibility and he would not shirk from it.

As the morning progressed, two items caught his attention. The first was an unusual amount of money in Guy Lafleur's personal account, even considering his position as a world-class researcher and as a pimp for attractive female chemists (it was about time Bartowksi wised up, he figured. It had taken him less than a week to figure out what Mrs. Bartowski had been up to). He started a trace on the sources of that money.

The second was a lack of a full background report from the NSA on High Art Industries. The profit and loss statements all were logically arranged and in good order. Invoices at the company, which seemed to be primarily investors, all seemed to be proper. But it was difficult to track the other end of those invoices. Such anomalies weren't too unusual, but given Larkin's close interaction with the company, the entire situation bore further investigation.

It was progress, Casey considered. Like usual, it was slow and the result of hard work, but it had to be considered progress.

**

* * *

Offices of High Art Industries  
****Los Angeles, CA  
****December 6  
****7:34 p.m.**

Tommy hung up the phone with a satisfied smile. The latest report on the growing proficiency of the hardware simulations to make the Intersect function meshed very nicely with reports he was receiving from within the NSA itself. His own CIA superiors were also feeding him useful information.

Together, they painted a clear path into the future – one that Tommy was only too happy to walk. It looked extremely likely that Fulcrum would be able to cripple the existing government's attempts at creating a functional Intersect. That wasn't enough to bring a smile to Tommy's face, however.

Capturing the Intersect itself would have sufficed, but that seemed to be too difficult a prospect. To really work, he required both the data and the processor to manipulate that data. The processor was within his grasp, potentially, but it was useless without the highly-guarded data. Capturing and removing petabytes of information from a facility like that would surely cost men and resources he didn't have. No, capturing the two independently was a closed road.

Similarly, capturing the fully-functional Intersect would only be of very limited use. Even if he could manage to eliminate the on-site military threats and secure the building for himself, he knew that he would never be allowed to maintain control. Omaha had taught him that the intelligence community would bomb the place to smithereens before they allowed that to happen. He traced his scar unhappily – a constant reminder of his opponent's commitment.

Still, he believed he had a reasonable likelihood of capturing the data and storing it in a manner that would be both transportable and usable. The best part was that even if it failed, his hands would be clean and he could continue to operate. He'd finally found … no, wait, he'd finally been handed a low-risk high-reward option in his pursuit of the intelligence community's most treasured vault.

It was funny how progress came about, he mused. Months of effort and subtle manipulations yielded no tangible payback. Thousands of pressure points were perilously pressed for seemingly nothing. But, with all his hard work, progress was inevitable. He would finally get paid for his efforts. And he intended to collect in full.

_I absolutely intend to finish this story. But I have neither the time nor the motivation to perfect and polish like I have in the past, so the remaining chapters are probably going to go almost directly from mind to file to posted. I wish that meant they'd come faster, but I can't promise anything._

_I do know that I still LOVE feedback and it's still easy to review. Just a simple button press._


	26. Endings and Beginnings

_Thanks to Bloodbank for a wall of comments to push my lazy bones back into action. Seriously, I started writing this chapter the day I published chapter 25 and have continued ever since. Free time is at a premium for me. My apologies for the long delay._

**BarLar, Inc.  
****December 18  
****1:27 p.m.**

Charles looked at the two packages on his desk that had greeted him upon his return from lunch with Morgan. Both lay there, each causing its own independent anxious butterflies about it contents and how those contents shaped his future. It was impossible to say which inspired more fear. Or more excitement.

One clearly contained the prototype CIPHER hardware. Charles wasn't aware of the precise details on how Casey and Sarah had managed to communicate their designs up their respective chains of command. He has simply passed along the exact specifications to them, as per his contract. Then, out of his sight and control, the hardware got built. He expected to get the first spin of hardware about two weeks later than this. And that expectation was before accounting for government inefficiency. Apparently, some things transcended the normal red tape route.

The second contained a thick sheaf of paper. His divorce was nearly complete. Somehow, he wasn't exactly sure how, his friend Richard had managed to get him nearly all of the assets of the Bartowski family and no obligation in terms of alimony in perpetuity. If the horror of Jill's life weren't still so fresh in his mind (and his nightmares), he would have felt guilty with the settlement. As it was, he was more than ready to simply put the ugly mess behind him. Except when those rare moments when he wasn't. Like now, when the finality of what he was doing hit like a Mike Tyson uppercut.

He stared at the two items, uncertain which to pick up first. He mumbled to himself out loud. "Finish something before you start something else. That's what Dad always said. Of course, that's not exactly what he did, was it?" After hesitating a moment longer, he sighed and picked up the divorce papers and signed them all. The indicated blanks were numerous, but he trusted his friend. He barely glanced at the papers, signing them nearly automatically.

The signing didn't complete his actions, however. A quick walk got him to the nearest Kinko's and he photocopied everything for his personal records before overnighting the package back to Richard. No silly slip-up with the mail system was going to stand in his way.

On his way back, an old Nissan Sentra cut him off, while he was trying to cross in a walking zone (with the light, of course). The car stopped and the passenger door flung open. "Get in!" called a familiar voice.

Without thinking, Charles quickly got into the car and pulled the door shut behind him. Squatting down on the floor of the passenger side, he tried to make himself invisible. With barely a glance at him, Sarah sped off. She did talk to him, though, barely moving her mouth. "You're getting better at this. No coaching necessary. I might make a spy out of you yet."

Looking with distaste at something sticky on his fingers, Charles replied, "I hope not. This sneaking around has its unglamorous side, too. Where'd you get this thing, anyway? Rent-a-wreck?"

A chuckle. "Pretty close. Besides, don't you think there's something … exciting about getting picked up on the run?"

Finally moving up and sitting in the seat, Charles quickly fastened his seatbelt. "Is that why you picked me up this way? You know the divorce is almost final. If you just waited a couple days, we could meet like real people, you know, like at a restaurant or something."

A glimmer in Sarah's eye accompanied her response. "Where's the fun in that?"

Charles was a bit disturbed by how casually she was treating his concern. "Is that all this is to you? An adrenaline rush?" Charles' focus was split between the conversation and the irrevocability of his divorce.

The response was immediate. "No, no, no. That's not it at all. Well, certainly only a tiny part of it. Sure, it's fun to fool a private dick, but it's spending time with you that I really like." Charles wasn't sure whom she was trying reassure most.

A response seemed called for, but he didn't know what that response should be. Most of the time, he found talking to Sarah so easy and fluid. Why did it have to change now? Was it because he finally felt the freedom to act on some of his feelings for her? Instead of pondering it too deeply, he changed the subject. "So … uh … where are we going?"

Now, it was Sarah's turn to squirm a little. She bit her lip and made a show of concentrating on her driving, though she seemed to be able to make even the old beater feel like a sports car.

Charles spoke again. "You didn't have a plan, did you? It was just pick-up-and-go, huh?" She nodded silently, so he continued. "I see … that's …. Still, it is nice that someone will go to all that trouble to just spend time with little ole me." It was the right thing to say, as a glorious smile that appeared far too infrequently blossomed across Sarah's face.

He thus felt encouraged to continue with, "It's not like you're leaving anytime soon, right?"

"Not as long as it takes to finish the CIPHER and get the whole Intersect up and running." Her tone of voice was clear that she expected this to be a lengthy process. The second envelope, the one containing the prototype chip, weighed suddenly heavier in Charles's pocket.

"But once that's done?"

"I'll be reassigned., probably to the far ends of the earth." She drove a moment before her brow furrowed. "Why?"

"Red tape isn't what it used to be. That … that could be quite soon."

Deflation was obvious in her flat response. "Oh."

The two drove in silence a minute or so. In that time, an unvoiced agreement between the two was reached to not discuss the topic again – at least not for a while. With that in mind, they enjoyed the afternoon together. They watched people, ate, and did everything but talk in depth.

Well, until the date was almost over. Just before dropping Charles off, Sarah spoke of things of substance again. "So … so you have results already?"

"What? No. The hardware just came in today. It'll take … time."

"How long?" she wanted to know.

"Not long enough," was the only answer he could give before exiting the vehicle and starting the job that would inevitably separate them.

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.  
2:01 p.m.

Casey looked at the email log again in disbelief. Solve a puzzle to recover the password to open the attachment. What? Every single message he'd looked at possessed some kind of bizarre twist to it, from odd wording to simple Vigenere ciphers to simply being strings of numbers and everything possible in-between. His headache grew more pronounced.

Most of the messages hadn't been too difficult to understand. From those, he had been able to determine which messages were critical and which weren't. Naturally, those he was most interested in were those with the most difficult-to-crack puzzles. Guy LaFleur was obviously crazy paranoid. The funny part, Casey reflected, was that, unlike most paranoid crazies, this one had good reason to be worried.

Looking over the puzzle one last time, he decided to seek help. He could go straight to his NSA team, but two reasons pushed him away from that route. The first was that Beckman had ordered him to keep most of the operations in LA secret, even from internal sources. The second was that he had worked with NSA eggheads before and their jibes about thick-headed field agents had hit just close enough to hurt. The next seven billion best things weren't available, either, so he went to ask the BarLar morons for help. They had to be good at something, he rationalized.

Even though in his heart he knew it was futile, the NSA man walked over to where Jeff and Lester were quote-working-unquote.

For once, semi-accurately reading the expression on Casey's face, Jeff posed the first question. "Problems, my intimidating friend?"

Casey started to glare, but before it could form, Lester made himself a more inviting target. "Gotta be girl troubles. Fortunately," he punched Jeff on the shoulder, "we are here to resolve everything."

In carefully measured tones, Casey replied, "No, thank you. But I could use your help with this puzzle." He showed them the puzzle he had printed off, after removing all potentially interesting information.

Jeff and Lester almost came to blows over the paper before putting it between them. Normally, Casey would have worried for any important sheet of paper being used as erstwhile rope in a battle of tug-of-war. Since these two didn't have enough strength, combined, to be a threat even to paper, he watched in a state halfway between bemusement and righteous anger.

A few seconds later, Jeff said, "The answer is beer." Jeff thought the answer to everything was beer.

Lester was nonplused. "How do you figure?"

"Well, the first answer is boobies, obviously."

"But the first blank is eight letters long." Casey was watching the exchange with fascination. It was like watching a toothless iguana fight an undersized platypus. Neither could really do anything effective, but they put everything they had into it.

"Just add extra 'ooh'," Jeff continued. "Booobies. With three oh's."

"But that doesn't make any sense. Give me that." Lester snatched the paper away and examined it a moment. "Gelt. It's obviously written by one of **my** people. The first words is 'bristen'. Ignoramus."

"Isn't 'bristen' also seven letters?" Jeff couldn't have looked or sounded more puzzled if he'd been scratching his head and his butt at the same time.

"Don't bother me with trifles. You don't understand true culture."

They continued arguing, but Casey had had enough. He walked away from the two, his opinion of them, magically, even lower than it had been before. "I guess I'll just have to send it in. There's no help for anyone to be found here." Well, maybe with one exception, he thought, but that individual was mysteriously out of the office this afternoon.

* * *

**Ellie and Awesome's Apartment  
****December 19  
****7:23 p.m.**

Charles rarely paid too much attention to the food he was eating, preferring to concentrate on the company. Tonight's meal combined with his unusually large appetite to change that particular habit, at least for one night. Ellie and Awesome were discussing work, too, which was a topic best tuned-out, especially during mealtime. They may think nothing of discussing human waste and gore at the table, but Charles preferred such things where they belonged -- on a TV screen.

Ellie thus had to repeat her comment to her brother before he fully heard and processed it. "Chuck, it's great to have you here for supper again. But don't you think you need to learn to cook?"

Around a mouthful, Charles replied, "Mebbe, but it …", he swallowed hard, "it would NEVER taste this good."

"Thanks. And we love having you over. It's good to see you." Ellie smiled wanly. "It's just kind of odd."

"Yeah," Charles nodded, "it is. How weird would it be if I ate here all the time?" They were all silent for a moment, wondering what twist of fate would possibly lead to Ellie's brother sharing meals with them consistently. Or even more unimaginably, living in the small apartment that Ellie and Devon shared.

Finally, Charles shook his head, as if warding off a particularly persistent insect. "No, I've been managing my own food for some time now. The real reason I came tonight is …" Looking at the two of them eagerly waiting for his news, he could barely continue. "Well, it's … it's official." He looked down and spoke the final few words directly to the tablecloth. "Jill and I are now officially divorced."

"Oh, Chuck, I'm so sor-" Ellie started.

Awesome's exuberance overrode her. "All the more reason you shouldn't be here, bro! Plenty of eligible babes out there just dying for the chance to hook up with a Stanford man. And owner of his own company? Get two!" The amount of cockiness he could squeeze into a single grin was more than Charles had felt his entire life.

Fortunately, Charles's sister was on his side. She back-handed her boyfriend playfully but hard enough to be felt. "Don't say such things. It's bad enough he's had one relationship go bad. There's no reason he needs to be thinking about another woman so quickly. Right?" She looked at Charles for confirmation.

He nodded quickly, because it was expected. But he felt guilty, because he was thinking about another woman. In fact, he was thinking very much about Sarah and about how much he hoped something would come up which would make her need to stay. Jill was hardly gone (officially), and he already felt a desire to be in another relationship.

Awesome covered for him, though, in a manner of speaking. "I wasn't talking about love or anything else. Just something physical and over with quickly."

"Oh, like that's going to help. That's just covering up one wound with another!"

"Wound? Not if you do it right!"

Charles stepped in. "Uhh … guys? I appreciate your concern, but, well, I think I can take care of my own life."

They both turned to him with condescending looks, making him feel very much like the younger brother. Again. He hated the way they could do that, but he couldn't do anything about it, except smile, which is what he did -- a weak attempt but it mollified them.

They talked a little longer, planning out how long he should wait before dating, where he should look for dates, whether owning his own business was a help or a hindrance, but Charles mostly tuned them out. In fact, he was already with another woman – mentally, at least. Sarah Walker, the mysterious, dangerous, beautiful woman filled his waking hours. So intense was his fascination that she sometimes intruded into his work life, which was essentially unprecedented.

It was only when the conversation stopped and Charles realized that both Ellie and Awesome were looking at him that he let go of the blonde image in his head and returned to the room. "Do you have everything in my life planned out now?" he asked a little more sarcastically than was strictly necessary.

Ellie looked at him sympathetically. "Sorry, Chuck, we just got carried away. We worry about you sometimes. We know you are great, but sometimes you…." She smiled at him. "I did take care of you for years, you know."

"I know. And thank you. But I'm not 15 any more."

"I'm sorry I forget that sometimes." And just like that, everything was warm and comfortable again. The rest of the meal, including dessert and clean-up, was as delightful and relaxing as Charles had come to expect when he visited his sister.

**

* * *

**

Outside CytRx Pharmaceuticals  
**Los Angeles, CA  
****7:53 p.m.**

Casey felt angry with himself. He had tried the circumspect route with high hopes, yet again. He should have known better. As usual, the computer forensics route had led basically nowhere. OK, it had provided even more circumstantial evidence that Lafleur was up to no good. But it had provided no real evidence about what that may be. Even the most difficult puzzles in the email hadn't led anywhere interesting, except maybe to a competing pharmaceutical company.

The lack of information only served to hone Casey's curiosity to a razor edge. The emails didn't explain the extra cash, because everything he intercepted was either entirely innocuous or sent internally. Industrial espionage seemed highly unlikely, even looking at logs of files put onto personal storage devices. No, something else was responsible. And the paranoia that Lafleur displayed had to have been learned somewhere.

Thus, Casey was prepared to take matters into his own hands. When technology failed, as it inevitably did, Casey was there to fill in the gap. This wasn't the first time he had put in extra hours to make up for gaps in intelligence. And he highly doubted it would be the last. That, he reflected, would only happen if something went dreadfully wrong with this attempt.

His inner ruminations ceased immediately when his target exited the mirror-windowed edifice where he worked. Lafleur walked calmly out of the building to a dark blue Civic which was parked near the front. With no parking signs evident, Lafleur obviously arrived as early as he worked late. Casey spared a tiny bit of grudging admiration before pulling into traffic behind the easy-to-lose vehicle and focusing on the job at hand.

When the Civic stopped at a park, Casey could hardly believe his luck. His quarry didn't seem the type to stop and feed pigeons. The odds were high that he had already found a hidden drop spot. Sure enough, the paranoid idiot walked straight to a bench and started counting trees. At a specific one, he stopped and fiddled around with some of the low branches.

As he strolled back to his car, Casey marked the spot with a low-frequency transponder and called it in. The FBI would comb the area and find whatever had been left. That was the one thing that were almost moderately competent at.

His enthusiasm dampened quickly as the evening turned into night, and Lafleur visited, in quick succession: a public swimming pool, an interstate rest stop, a bus stop, a museum, and a train stop. The only positive was that he had been successful in stopping the FBI investigation team, suffering only a little ribbing for making a wrong call.

On the positive side, night didn't continue to complicate matters, as Lafleur only attended a showing of Wagner's _Tristan and Isolde_ at the local opera house. He made no additional stops before or after the opera. Casey saw no need to partake in the opera, having already seen it. His opinion was that it was significantly less enjoyable than _Das Rheingold_.

The next morning's surveillance saw Lafleur visit three spots -- an aquarium, a different park, and a public library -- on this way to work. Either he had dozens of operations and drop spots or he was camouflaging a legitimate spot or two behind a wall of false leads. The guy's paranoia did do a good job of covering his tracks.

After watching his target for the remainder of the day, which included another half-dozen stops at random locations with hundreds or thousands of hiding places, Casey had to admit defeat. He returned to his apartment in a funk.

Looking squarely at his picture of Ronald Reagan, he asked, "What did I miss? He's an amateur. He shouldn't be able to fool me. Where should I look?"

_Comments/reviews appreciated. Very much so. _


	27. Not Quite a Wrap

_Since I no longer have beta-ers to thank (takes me long enough without their help), I'll thank DK who gave an absolutely phenomenal review to chapter 26. I am always reading those._

**BarLar, Inc.  
****December 20  
1:42 p.m.**

Morgan felt comfortable at his desk, with his computer tuned into the latest free porn stream he had found. Almost nobody ever came to BarLar, and those who did usually knew more about what was going on than Morgan did. It was the perfect gig.

Things looked up even more as Anna sashayed her way toward him. The extra sway in her walk, the gleam in her eye, and her tongue across her lips all helped clue him in that something special was afoot. She asked in breathy tones, "Would you like to come help me stress test the CIPHER?" He was already up and on his way before the words registered. When they did, he imagined something even wilder than before. He didn't know how computer equipment figured in, but his imagination came up with all kinds of kinky possibilities.

She led him past their usual haunt, the bathrooms, and into the presentation room, which had changed dramatically since his last visit. His favorite comfortable couch had been pushed against the wall under the TV, and two high tables dominated the space. Electronic equipment that he didn't recognize covered much of the table space and even spilled over onto the floor. No space seemed available, except near the wall, and it had been an abysmal failure the last time they'd tried that particular physical feat.

He turned to Anna with a questioning expression, noting with satisfaction that she had closed and locked the door. "Wha.." is all the further he got before his head whipped around.

"Thanks for agreeing to help, Morgan," Chuck said distractedly, stepping out from behind a large cabinet containing even more doodads with wires. He then turned his attention to some other mysterious equipment.

A smile bloomed on Morgan's face as he turned back to Anna. "I thought you said you weren't into this kind of thing," he gently chided.

Her return look was one that he couldn't decipher. It was not at all what he expected. "Please … just forgive me."

A word that Chuck had said earlier came back to Morgan's mind. _Help._ Anna had said the same thing. Suspicion suddenly blossomed. "Wait … why am I here?" He looked at Anna, but she was pleadingly looking at Chuck, who seemed oblivious to his friend's distress.

"We needed someone to stress test the CIPHER. Put it through its paces. Try to make the firmware break. You're just the kind of guy to try off-beat things. And you can process visual imagery pretty quickly and make changes. I know that. You've beaten me at HALO too many times to deny it."

Morgan made a break for the door, but the doorknob refused to turn. He debated throwing a fit – kicking and screaming sometimes worked, but he decided it wasn't worth the effort. The trap had been too-well organized for them to give up on it so easily. His shoulders sagged as he plodded over to where Chuck stood. "OK," he moped, "what do you need me to do?"

Chuck finally looked up and grinned. Any doubts in Morgan's mind about whether the two had worked together to set him up were dispelled. They knew his anti-work filters too well and co-opted them. _Never again_, he vowed to himself.

"It's really pretty easy," Chuck explained, handing him what looked to be an XBOX six-axis. "I hooked most of the options up to this controller. Pretend it's a new game and you have to discover the cheat codes. Find a way to make the system work for you instead of against you. You know, just like you normally would."

Morgan glowered, but he grabbed the controller and sat down to his task – the odd angle of seat to TV only a minor inconvenience. While his thumbs methodically and automatically went through thousands of entry combinations in a pattern he had long ago memorized, he listened with half an ear to the conversation behind him.

Anna spoke first. "Another flawless pass. Why did we run this test again?"

Chuck's response contained true words but an incorrect amount of passion. "To be sure. We have to have this right."

"C'mon, Chuckles, it's almost like you're looking for something to be wrong so we have to redesign this thing from the bottom up. We've double- and triple-checked almost everything we can with the limited data we have. When are you going to put in the call to let us test full-scale?"

Morgan could hear the reluctance in Chuck's voice. "Well … you know … we should really test this as long as we can. They're pretty anxious, but … if we somehow got something wrong, I think they'd be most unhappy. This isn't software. We can't really fix it post-production. And … umm … what's your hurry anyway?"

"Uhh … hello? Getting paid? Delivering our product so we can go on to make more money? Y'know, like a company is supposed to? Bryce was saying something just yesterday about wanting to show a new client around."

"Oh … yeah … about that…." At this point, Morgan could tell that Chuck was lying, or preparing to lie. That was unusual, because his friend rarely did that. As such, he was a miserable liar, and everyone could tell when he did. "I … uh … I just want to be sure we get everything fully correct before we move on."

Anna noticed Morgan watching them, so she heaved a big sigh for his benefit. He appreciated her effort, but he also shared her exasperation. What was going on?

**

* * *

**

**Casey's Apartment  
December 26  
1:59 p.m.**

Casey watched as Sarah tried to subtly edge her chair away from his. While he felt the same sense of discomfort at having her in the room for a briefing, he maintained his strict military posture and bearing. When General Beckman told him they were to be briefed together, he had reacted with his practiced stoicism. That was not about to change now.

At precisely 2:00 p.m., the screen flickered to life. It showed the office Casey knew well, the one where General Beckman always seemed to be working. Standing behind her was Director Graham from the CIA. As was proper, Beckman spoke first, "Good afternoon, agents. As you know, all of the testing on the CIPHER chip has gone very well." Casey noted Walker's reaction with interest – a widening of the eyes followed by a slight furrow of her brow. Apparently, this news surprised her, though he was well aware of it. She covered it well and he doubt either superior noticed, but he did. He wondered why she wouldn't know about the status of the testing. Beckman continued without pause, "It is time to get the Intersect up and fully running."

Graham spoke next, showing that he and Beckman had obviously discussed this before. "We have decided to base the Intersect project in Los Angeles for now. The lead designer is there and we may need him on a moment's notice. Eventually, we may decide to implement additional Intersect branches in alternate locations, depending on the success of this operation."

Beckman resumed, "To facilitate the success of this initial Intersect, we have additional assignments for you both. Casey, you will receive the shipment of the data files from a special courier. It should not interfere with your on-going investigation."

"Sarah," her commander said, "your responsibility is to set up the site where the Intersect will be housed. You will need to acquire an appropriate building and properly secure it. However, place the emphasis on not being discovered over protecting against a large-scale attack. We need everything in place by Jan. 10."

His eyes widening slightly, Casey looked at his erstwhile partner on this mission. That was a major amount of work to do in a short period of time, but Walker seemed unconcerned about the amount of work dropped unexpectedly in her lap. As she calmly nodded, he found his estimation of her rising yet again. It was already uncomfortably high, and he fought his natural instinct to approve. She was CIA, hardly worthy of his respect.

"Any special requirements?"

"You will need to work with BarLar executives to determine and enact the necessary protections for the CIPHER chip. That is of primary import."

Walker nodded. She bit her lip before asking her next question. "And what will happen with Chu... the BarLar executives after the Intersect is up and fully operational?" She picked her remaining words more carefully. "At one point, it seemed you were considering Mr. Bartowski for higher clearance. Some of the tests performed in Washington...." She trailed off, with a meaningful glance at Casey. For his part, he wasn't fully aware of everything that had happened, which was a feeling he hated. And circumspection out of doubt of him? It grated his every nerve, but he could do nothing.

Beckman and Graham didn't so much as glance at each other before the NSA director replied, "I am not sure why it's any of your business."

Graham continued, though Casey could tell that Beckman didn't approve. "Nevertheless, we will tell you that we were considering Mr. Bartowski for some specialized roles. However, after discussion with some of our experts, we determined that the risk outweighed the potential gains. He has served his country with honor and has expressed no interest in pursuing that further."

"He will be monitored and protected," Beckman added, "of course. The only way he'll be actively sought is if we believe he'd be the best option for a next-generation Intersect, though that seems ... unlikely."

The screen went blank, though Walker continued to stare at it.

Casey waited for her to leave, but she continued to glare at the monitor, as though the news were a personal affront. He felt compelled to speak. "C'mon, Walker, this is good news."

She turned to face him as she finally stood to leave. "Yeah, it is." Her face almost hid the lie inherent in those words. All it successfully masked was why she was disappointed to be leaving this boring assignment.

**

* * *

**

**Sarah's Apartment  
Jan. 3, 2008  
7:14 p.m.**

Sarah was frustrated by the need to return home and prepare for a date. Her project was coming along fine, in most respects, but it needed time and attention. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to provide all of the details required. Thus, the need for tonight's meeting.

Sighing, she checked her watch for the seventh time in the last six minutes. He was late, as usual. Anticipating the inevitable argument about who would drive and which vehicle they would take did nothing to improve her mood. Again, she considered simply knocking him out and taking him to their destination unconscious. Might spoil the date perception, but it sure would make things a lot easier.

A single knock on the door was all she permitted before pulling it open. Her date spilled in behind his hand. "Sorry I'm late. Err … something came up."

Sarah had heard those words before. It meant that he had been with another female, presumably human, before coming on their date. Those words were his own private code that he obviously thought funny. She thought otherwise. But what surprised her was the disappointment she felt about his actions. _Hanging around with Chuck really has changed my perception. This is the way most guys act. And, hell, we said up front that this was just a cover._ Fixing him with a glare, she simply said, "We have work to do, Bryce."

He deflated a little that. "Work? Does that mean another night spent in the car for me?" He affected a dramatic tone, "poor Bryce, all dressed up, with no one to enjoy the sight."

"Let's just go. We can talk about it while we're on our way."

"I'm driving."

"Well, if you don't mind some anti-tank rounds in the grill, that'd be fine." He blanched and she smiled inwardly. It always felt good to spread around a little trepidation. This particular stun lasted long enough for her to get behind the wheel of her Porsche and start for the Intersect building.

Eventually, Bryce asked, "So … what is it tonight? Even though I know better, anything I can do?"

Sarah was waiting for that. He always asked, even though she had always had to tell him no before. Tonight, though, the main reason she'd even waited for him was that she had a job for him. "Actually, yes, there is something you can do."

Bryce sat up straighter in his seat. "Really? What's that?"

Choosing her words carefully, she spoke to the windshield, concentrating on looking for anyone following them, "You know we are planning to use the CIPHER chip to protect our country by discovering patterns as early as possible. Every day, we gather an enormous amount of data and processing it all is a monumental task. That's CIPHER's job. My job is to protect the data and the CIPHER chip itself."

"Go on." His voice was guarded, probably wondering where he fit in.

"I can do all the building security. It's not all in place, yet, so no anti-tank missiles right now," she chuckled and Bryce did, too, though his was more forced than hers. "But the protection of the CIPHER chip and the whole electromagnetic requirements … well, I'm out of my league there."

"And you want me to help with that?"

"Yes."

Bryce was silent for several minutes, with his brow furrowed, obviously thinking hard. When he spoke, it was a slow methodical cadence unlike his normal confident approach. Sarah chalked it up to solving a problem on the fly. "We should have an entire clean room where the CIPHER chip is housed. It should have independent power and be physically and electromagnetically detached from the rest of the building. The walls would make a convenient place to display images while -"

"Display images?" Sarah broke in.

"Yes, as CIPHER processes images, it is helpful to display them. Is that a problem?"

"No, no. Just unexpected. Tell me what you'll need."

A grim smile ghosted across Bryce's face. "OK. We'll also want …." Bryce trailed off they approached a guard station with MPs holding automatic weapons. The way looked clear, but a quick glance at the ground showed holes where nearly anything could be lying in wait.

Sarah flashed credentials at the guard, who nodded and peered suspiciously at Bryce. "This is Bryce Larkin," Sarah said. "He will need his own set of credentials. He will be assisting me in setting up the building. Independent contractor. Full internal access to this location for the next two weeks. No other locations or times." The guard jotted everything down quickly and snapped a salute as Sarah drove in.

**

* * *

**

**Los Angeles Opera House  
January 10, 2008  
7:52 p.m.**

Casey settled into seat 32H, the best he could find. At least he wasn't under the overhang, where every note was distorted and every tonal inflection muffled. It also gave him a clear view of both the stage and of Lafleur's box, though he intended to spend a lot more time watching the former. _La Boheme_ was being performed tonight, with an excellent troupe. It wasn't something to miss.

As the opening strains "Questo Mar Rosso mi ammoli…" washed over him, Casey stole a glance up to Lafleur's box. Strangely, it was deserted. _Probably running late_ he thought to himself. He was loath to miss any of the performance, but work always came first for John Casey. Frowning, he powered on his portable computer (which looked enough like a cell phone to pass a casual inspection), and ran the trace on Lafleur's car. It was at home.

That fact niggled at Casey's brain through the whole first act. _Why would a dedicated opera-goer like Guy Lafleur miss _La Boheme?_ He had sat through the entire showing of _The Fly_ for heaven's sake. He hadn't appeared at all sick earlier that day, going through his unpredictable pre- and post-work routines. Why wouldn't he come? He hadn't missed any showings._ Rodolpho was singing _Che gelida manina_ and Casey could barely listen. _Lafleur had beyond season tickets which provided every amenity an opera house could offer. What possible reason could he have for not coming? It didn't make sense. _Casey very much preferred when things made logical sense.

Intermission came and Casey's brain was still buzzing. _Lafleur was hiding something, obviously. You didn't go to the lengths he did if you weren't. Even his little harem of girls from the office didn't require that level of paranoia. Something was up. But there were too many leads. How could anyone keep anything straight?_

_ Wait a cotton-picking second! What if all the trails were false? Designed to throw off anybody looking after him? Then the secrets could just be part of his quote-unquote-normal routine. Normal like going to the opera house?_

_La Boheme_ was now forgotten as Casey plotted how to get to Lafleur's box seats. He would have to act fast, as intermission was almost over. That was his best chance. With only half-formed ideas, he climbed the stairs to the balcony where the entrances would have to be. Despite having been in many opera houses, the best seats were ones Casey didn't know how to locate easily.

Nevertheless, he set off purposefully down a narrow corridor that seemed to lead in the general direction of Lafleur's private box. Around a corner, a uniformed usher held up a gloved hand. "I'm sorry, sir, but this area is reserved." He had a snooty tone that had to be an affectation of his position.

The man was small and Casey enjoyed a certain amount of immunity as an NSA officer, but playing a hunch was not a time to get physical. Casey put on a disarming smile. "My good friend Guy asked me to meet him in his box for the second half of tonight's performance. He said I would love the view."

The other man eyed Casey up and down. Dressed in a fine suit, the NSA man very much looked the type to have an invitation into a private box. After a moment, the usher said self-importantly, "Wait here," and moved further down the corridor. Discretely but intently, he was watched as he checked the third opening on the right.

When the usher returned, Casey was well back from the corner, checking his watch. "I'm sorry, sir, but Mr. Lafleur does not appear to be in his box at this time."

The response was expected, of course. And arguing with men who generally had no power but over their tiny domains was pointless. Fortunately, other avenues were available. A handshake concealed $50 exchanging hands while Casey spoke. "Thank you for checking. But I am anxious to see Guy. Are you sure there isn't anything you can do?"

Nervous glances in both directions were an encouraging sign and the man finally nodded. "I never saw you. I was in the bathroom."

Grinning, Casey strode past him and to Lafleur's box as if he had been there a hundred times before. As he entered, he spared a glance back at the usher, who had indeed been watching him. _It's all about confidence_, he grinned to himself as he started scanning the box.

Everything looked to be in place on first inspection, so he sat down as if watching the opera. Meanwhile, he continued to scrutinize the small space, looking for anything out of place. It took a full three minutes to spot the two holes on the floor. Since he had not heard the curtain open yet, Casey remained seated, studying them and pondering how to bypass them, as _O buon Marcello, aiuto! _rang through the opera hall.

A squeak and rustle from behind alerted him that he was being watched. But Casey's eyes were firmly planted on the stage, even though his mind was not. In a few seconds, the rustle returned and his viewer was gone. Even without Lafleur there, the usher didn't want to make a scene. Neither did Casey.

Once the other man was gone, however, Casey got to work. Just in case anyone was watching, he pretended to look for something. After miming the "lost phone" actions, he scowled roundly before going to the floor to examine the anomaly in closer detail. It was some kind of complex lock mechanism. It took him the rest of the third act and a reasonable portion of the fourth before he was able to bypass the lock. He knew his lock-picking wasn't what it was supposed to be, but that was ridiculous.

Inside was a simple wooden box. As he pulled it out, Casey could feel its mass – it could contain any number of things, including a bomb sufficiently large to destroy the opera house. He waged a brief mental battle about opening it there and then or taking it somewhere safer. On stage, Mimi was nearing death, so he decided it would wait. No need to endanger a perfectly good touring ensemble.

It was hard, though, because his instincts were screaming that he had found something very valuable.

_OK, so it's been more than a year since I started this story. I still plan to finish. Reviews are motivation. Thanks all!_


	28. The Intersect

_Shout-out to the weather. Some snowed-in evenings helped provide time to get this out reasonably quickly._

**Underground Bunker (near LA)  
****January 11  
****8:03 a.m. **

Casey stared at the box in front of him, wondering what treasures it contained. The cold space, the damp smell, the darkness everywhere but where he sat – none of them bothered him. In fact, the entire set-up process had invigorated him and heightened his senses to a fever pitch.

He was about to engage in a battle of wits with the creator of the box. He only hoped it contained something valuable, something worth the effort he'd gone to, something to make the endless days sitting at a tech company worth it.

So, when the lid came off and a countdown started on an LED clock, he couldn't have been happier. Some random music notes were strewn around, but Casey ignored them. A glance told him he had three minutes total. A 27-second escape run gave him two-and-a-half minutes to disarm anything dangerous.

He peered at the wiring intently, then moved his head six inches to the left and repeated the procedure. A frown crossed his face. Reaching out with his left hand, he traced a wire along its path. His right hand grabbed a small scissors from a large array of instruments, while his eyes never left his work.

Reaching inside the box, he snipped the wire he had previously traced. The countdown stopped at 2:49 and a hidden compartment popped up. Inside was a simple USB drive. Casey took the drive and muttered to himself, "Amateurs."

**

* * *

**

BarLar, Inc.  
**January 14  
****1:07 p.m**

Charles hung up the phone with a distinct sense of loss. It was over. He couldn't drag out the testing of the CIPHER hardware any longer. It worked. Not only did it work, the NSA and CIA knew it worked. And the government was taking it. The phone call he'd just ended had contained his final instructions, including how to destroy all records of their involvement.

A lack of direction wasn't unusual for Charles at the end of a major endeavor, but this one felt heavier and more pronounced. It stretched across his professional life into those precious hours of personal life that he still maintained.

From experience, he knew the fastest cure was another project to throw himself into. Something Anna had said was tickling the back of his brain, something about Bryce having another potential source of funding. Money didn't come without work, and work would be a most welcome thing at that moment. At the time, he'd been in denial about the completion of the CIPHER work, because of what it meant in so many ways. That comfortable ignoring of facts had been shattered by the reality of the call.

It took most of his will to force himself out of his chair, though, to go to Bryce's office and listen to what might well just be fantasy. Another hindrance awaited him, as his friend was on the phone.

"Yes, yes, I can do that." Bryce was nodding his head, which was typical when he talked on the phone. What wasn't typical was the pallor of his skin and the lack of enthusiasm in his voice. It must have been bad news, which was precisely what Charles didn't want to hear.

Bryce spoke again. "R-right. … No, I can't really…. Yes. OK." He swallowed deeply and looked at Charles sadly.

"What happened?"

Before his partner could respond, though, the door swung open and John Casey strode in almost gleefully, followed by a more sedate Sarah Walker. "Alright, gentlemen," the NSA man said, "today's the day of the transfer. We just need the CIPHER."

All thoughts of Bryce fled immediately. "What? Now? But … but we're still testing and I figured it would be weeks yet before …. Why now?"

Casey continued to speak for the government officials. "Because we know you've done all you can with the test data you got and you ain't authorized to get more. It's ready. The CIPHER ain't your baby anymore."

"So," Charles searched for words, "that's it? All the work we put into things and now it's just 'give us what we want and we're gone'?"

"Essentially. You got paid. What more do you want?" Casey seemed bothered by the mere concept of sentimentality.

"Is it really … over?"

"If you ever shut up about it. Now, where's the CIPHER?"

Charles led the two of them to the conference room, where the CIPHER sat on a table. The CIPHER was not so much a chip as it was a compact supercomputer the size of basketball. Two openings marred the perfect symmetry of the machine. One was for electricity, coolant, and the like. The other, larger opening, was for the massive data port to shuttle information in and out.

The spherical shape served two purposed. The first was to aid with heat dissipation and to separate the various cores. The second purpose was to house (and camouflage) Bryce's contributions, which took up an impressive amount of space. They also needed constant, immediate feedback from the main processors and had to be physically protected from tampering.

The overall reaction varied from individual to individual, but Charles had no doubts. CIPHER was the most amazing and beautiful thing he had ever been a part of making. Every product he'd ever made, from college projects to highly-customized software occupied a place in his heart. CIPHER's place was the largest of any of those.

Nevertheless, somehow, saying good-bye to his first supercomputer was not the hardest part of the end of this project. Charles focused on that part, though, because it was the most present … and most easy to understand and explain. Picking up the CIPHER, Charles hugged it briefly to himself before handing it gingerly to Casey, even though the physical safeguards in place would have protected everything even if they dribbled the computer all the way to its final resting site.

Casey took it and stalked out with a parting "Finally!"

Sarah, however, lingered an extra moment. Charles took his opportunity to explore the sharper pain. This might be the last chance he ever had to talk to her, and they were even alone. "Is … is it really over?"

Silently, Sarah nodded, not meeting his eyes.

It was apparently up to Charles to speak. "So, what then? They'll say 'good job, now go quell a rebellion with a spoon'?"

Sarah's response was very quiet and addressed to the floor. "Probably. All I really know is that it will be something that's far from here."

Passions strained. "And you're OK with that? Just … just…." He didn't know where to go with that.

A shrug. "I have to go now. It was … it was really nice getting to know you, Chuck." And with that, she was gone.

**

* * *

**

Casey's Apartment  
**7:08 p.m.**

Casey really hoped for good news as he sat down at his desk. The longer it took to decrypt Lafleur's little cache of information, the more likely it was that he'd be stuck in California twiddling his thumbs instead of out on the front lines, where he could do the world the most good. Sure, the brass thought this whole Intersect thing was important, but he'd learned long ago that his priorities and those of the people in power differed.

Unfortunately, the status indicator still showed "Running …" with the count indicating another few quadrillion keys had been tried. Progress was always much faster at night, when the computers in the NSA-controlled botnet weren't being used for their intended purposes. On the outside, though, it shouldn't take more than another month to find the correct key.

His ruminations were interrupted by a knock at the door. The disturbance wasn't unexpected, but Casey still took a moment to grab his pistol and to run a full weapon scan, which showed the visitor to be clean. He opened the door to see a small man dressed in a workman's jacket. "Major Casey?" he asked. After Casey's nod, the other continued, "Check phrase?"

"Morning glory."

"Very good, sir." The man handed Casey what felt to be a very heavy book, complete with pages, though the pages looked thicker than normal paper.

"This it?"

A contemptuous glance answered his question. "Ten exabytes of the finest intel on the planet. Lightning-fast read times. Just like you need. Don't lose it." And then the man was gone.

Casey looked at the package curiously – _ten whats?_ He then shrugged and grabbed his keys. These orders were clear – this package took priority over the break-in investigation. After it was secured, he could return to watching the key counter climb.

**

* * *

**

Intersect Room  
**Jan. 16  
****8:57 a.m.**

Sarah stood in the middle of a perfectly white room. Even the seam of the single door was almost perfectly invisible. Light didn't come from any single source but emanated from all around her. A single pedestal rose in the middle, white on white, with the emergency controls for the Intersect.

Hidden behind the dark sunglasses Bryce had insisted they always wear in here, she felt safe. They shielded her red eyes from all who might see them and wonder. She had arrived early with the express purpose of being safely behind them when her NSA counterpart arrived.

He arrived, with his annoying perfect punctuality, at 9:00 a.m. She would have wagered anything short of her Porsche that his arrival was accurate to the nearest second based on some atomic clock somewhere. Heck, he probably was an atomic clock himself.

Taking one look at her, he half-muffled a smirk. "Trying to hide your crying eyes?"

She refused to rise to his bait. "Engineer's orders," she replied, handing him a pair of the specialized glasses. "The ear plugs will need to go in, too, once we actually fire everything up."

"You mean this thing doesn't just run quietly on its own?"

Shaking her head, Sarah replied, "I didn't understand the full nuances of it. Something Bryce insisted on."

"Oh, so that's what you and Larkin have been doing. I figured maybe you were just off playing house."

Sarah didn't react, because she knew it would only encourage him. At least he didn't know everything. His mistake – even on a detail – made her pain a little easier to bear. "Let's just get on with this."

"Roger that." As Casey put on his sunglasses and arranged the earpieces, Sarah finished blocking of the majority of sound. Like the glasses, the earpieces didn't seem to block all sensory input, just blurred it somehow.

"Initiating power-on," Sarah spoke, and her words sounded funny in her own head. Around them, the white light dimmed and started to strobe, as pictures started appearing on all the walls around them. Strangely muffled sounds seemed to match the blurred, hazy pictures around them. At long last, the Intersect was running.

The two officers left the room after a moment and went to the primary control room. This time, Casey took the lead and entered in some recent intel on a wanted terrorist. In mere minutes, results came back, with fuller information on the suspect, including a pretty accurate estimate of his current location that Casey had not included in his input.

"Appears to be fully operational." Casey sounded neither surprised nor like he had been expecting that result. It simply was.

Sarah nodded her agreement. "It looks like our work here is almost done. Time to turn it over to the eggheads." Without further comment, the two left to take care of various unfinished business.

**

* * *

**

Bartowski House  
**8:11 p.m.**

Charles tentatively raised his rifle and sighted the intruder. It took him an uncomfortably long time to lock in on the profile through the oddly-distorted magnification. He was just reaching for the trigger when the world exploded in a splash of red and the sound of death.

"Dammit, Morgan, I'm down again," he said into his headset as he watched his opponent drop and heard his death-cry. Shortly thereafter, another cry echoed through the game.

"S'okay, man. I got your back. But we gotta play somebody besides little girls sometime, you know?" Morgan always knew how to spare his feelings.

"Not tonight. I'm out." Charles turned off the headset and the XBOX in one savage move. His plan had been a good one, he told himself: lose himself in the simulated gore and real intensity of a video game. But he hadn't counted on his ineptitude and the corresponding swell of feelings of helplessness and inadequacy, as all he had started to hope and dream for over the last week (or four) had come crashing down around him. He had tried to delay, tried to make things work in his favor, but it hadn't worked. Nothing worked. It was enough to make him almost wish he was a drinking man.

His hand reached for the light switch, to plunge him into darkness, which he knew was no escape but was also comforting, when a knock on the door stopped him. It was followed a moment later by repeated rings of the doorbell. Curiosity won out and he went to the door, but the person on the other side couldn't have been a bigger surprise.

It was Bryce Larkin. The same Bryce Larkin that Charles had expressly forbade from trying to cheer him with words like 'wingman' or 'more fish in the sea' or, heaven forbid, 'bing, cherry vanilla'.

"What?" he tried to snarl as he opened the door, but he just wasn't the snarling type. It came out petulant and not at all intimidating. Actually, though, that seemed better than snarling, as his mind caught up to the expression on his friend's face. It wasn't the normal, cocky expression normally associated with that face. It was a pale, serious, almost-frightened expression that Charles had only seen once before – when Bryce had gotten the news that his father had died of a massive heart attack.

"Bryce, what's the matter?"

Bryce swallowed and set his face. "It's the Intersect, the CIPHER, something's gone wrong. Terribly wrong. We need to get there and fix everything. Fast."

Nodding, Charles was out the door and into Bryce's ridiculously large black SUV before his brain processed what had been said. _Something wrong with the Intersect? How would Bryce know? What the hell is going on? Even if something was wrong (a thought some other part of him relished), why would Bryce be frightened?_

**

* * *

**

Sarah Walker's Apartment  
**8:17 p.m.**

Sarah answered the phone without even checking the caller ID. Not that the caller ID would have told her anything; she'd already wiped out all the physical evidence of her time in LA. She knew what this call would be – it would be her new assignment and then she truly would disappear. This time, it felt like she would disappear forever.

The voice on the other end of the line was not one she expected. "Sarah?" Chuck's voice questioned.

"Chuck, what is it?" She heard the worry and concern in her voice and could only hope that he did not. It wouldn't do either of them any good.

"Sarah, I have to get in to see the Intersect. Bryce says there's something wrong, but I don't have clearance to get to the site." Chuck sounded panicked.

She only thought for a moment. "OK, I'll get you in."

Already in motion as she hung up, Sarah grabbed her pistol and night-gear, about the only items she hadn't already packed for her imminent dismissal. As she ran to her Porsche, she dialed the guards.

**

* * *

**

**Outside the Intersect Building  
****8:31 p.m.**

Charles still wasn't certain where exactly they were going. He'd caught enough of conversations to know the Intersect was going to be protected, but the exact location had never been revealed. Thus, it was only when Bryce pulled up to a makeshift guard station that their destination became clear.

"Good evening, Mr. Larkin." This was apparently not the first time his friend had been here. It helped explain some of his absences over the previous few weeks. Charles wondered if Sarah's recent industriousness was related. He pushed those thoughts from his mind, though, because of the pain they contained.

"Evening, Tony. Mr. Bartowski, here, and I, we have some business to take care of inside. And we're in kind of a rush." Bryce showed a badge to the guard after gesturing at Charles. Tony was a roundish black man, completely bald and somehow lacking the intimidation factor Charles would have expected from a high-security government building.

"Yeah, Miss Walker called with a description of him and said he was alright." The SUV tilted ever so slightly as the guard leaned in to inspect Charles disturbingly closely.

Bryce, perhaps noticing the discomfort this caused, asked, "Looking for something in particular?"

"Nope, just wondering what lucky bastard would have a bombshell like her describing him as cute. The rest fits, though, so you're good."

Charles felt his breathing start again as the SUV inched forward. He almost stopped again, though, when a hand slapped on the roof.

"You can't be in such a hurry when you leave. Don't want you walking off with something that isn't yours."

"No problem." Bryce's voice shook just a little, but the guard let it pass.

As they drove in to the compound, Charles spoke. "Did he say … Sarah thinks … I'm … c-cute?"

**

* * *

**

Casey's Apartment  
**8:34 p.m.**

Casey luxuriated as the chocolate-chip cookie melted in his mouth. He had achieved perfect dunking time, so the cookie simply dissolved, but it hadn't fallen apart between the glass and his mouth. Such small pleasures were among the few he granted himself.

Of course, at that precise moment, his computer chimed, wanting his attention. For the briefest of moments, he considered ignoring it and not opening his eyes, but, as always, duty won out. On-screen was the best news he could have hoped for. His search was done. He could now decrypt the files.

While the computer worked on the decryption, he opened the first file to see what it contained. Benny Agbiyani. Known Fulcrum agent with ties to the mafia. The accompanying picture was an overweight man who looked like he would have a heart attack and die from climbing three flights of stairs. The second file was similar – another Fulcrum agent, this one inside the CIA.

His excitement grew as the number of files increased, though it was tempered by the knowledge that this goldmine didn't exactly resolve the case he was working on. Beckman had mentioned something about the threat posed by insider operatives named Fulcrum, but since he hadn't been assigned anything specific to do with it, he had mostly ignored the news. Moles meant not trusting people, but Casey already distrusted everyone – even if they were supposedly on his team. It was an old habit, and one that died hard.

Instead of continuing to open files for the juicy details, Casey scanned down the list of names. He recognized a few from his training classes. Most were mysteries. Only one name bothered him. Tommy Cordero. He had seen that name before. Recently. Where?

He took another bite of cookie as he thought. _Too dry._ Where in the world would we have seen a Fulcrum agent's name in the last week?

Something clicked and his cookies were instantly forgotten. Unidentified phone calls for Larkin. Tommy Cordero had been on that list! Pushing his chair to a filing cabinet, he pulled out a sheet of paper to verify his hunch. There was the name, repeatedly, with calls going in both directions.

And Walker had given Larkin internal access to the Intersect facilities. This was not good. He rolled back to his computer and punched in the program to track Larkin. At the Intersect site. This late at night after it was running? Damn!

His Crown Vic held everything he needed. Casey just prayed she was fast enough to get him across town before everything went even more pear-shaped than it already was.

**

* * *

**

Intersect Building  
**8:36 p.m.**

Tommy was seething, hidden in the back of the SUV. Bryce had accumulated enough equipment and pure garbage that he had plenty of space, but the call that that Bartowski … enigma had made put his teeth on edge. Why hadn't Bryce stopped him? Tommy wished he could learn that immediately, but two things stopped him. The first was the lack of the right persuasion tools. The second was a stark lack of time. Tonight, the mission was imperative.

At least they had passed the first big danger point. They were inside the complex and once inside, things tended to go a lot more smoothly. Bryce had been brilliant in talking his way past the guard, using the skills Tommy had taught him. The whole scenario was brilliant.

Once they parked, Tommy freed himself from his temporary hiding spot. He intended to personally supervise the remainder of the mission. Too many things could go wrong. And while Bryce was useful, Tommy didn't really trust the man. Not where his friends were involved.

Chuck seemed very surprised to see him, which didn't changes Tommy's state of high alertness. Bryce was holding up his end of the bargain admirably, but complications always arose. At a questioning look from his friend, Bryce spoke. "Chuck, this is Tommy Cordero. Tommy's along tonight to learn a little about our last set-up, to see if he's going to want to avail himself of our services in the future. Tommy, this is Charles Bartowski."

Not for the first time, Tommy wished he and Bryce had met under different circumstances. The other man's ability to smoothly tell a truth that left open false implications was wonderful. Maybe he would get through the night alive, but it seemed unlikely.

"Bryce, are you sure this is OK? Is there really something wrong with the CIPHER? We can get in trouble if we're here and we're not supposed to be." Charles was confused and the longer he stayed that way, the better.

With that in mind, Tommy started walking quickly, with Bryce quickly taking the lead. Charles hurried to keep up. "Yes, there really is something wrong. And, yes, we really are under a time pressure. Once we get everything fixed up, I'll explain. OK?"

The man was a born spy, Tommy realized. It would be a shame to kill him. Maybe he could be made to see the FULCRUM way. At the very least, acting prematurely would be completely counterproductive.

Inside the building, another guard greeted them. He looked a bit curious, but Bryce said, "Intersect business. Let us through." Just like that, they were granted full access to the inside of the building. Confidence, poise, and an established presence went a long ways.

As they walked down a long corridor, Tommy was struck by how much the place felt, looked, and even smelled like Langley. Somehow, the same austere atmosphere had been reproduced. Agent Walker was truly a product of her organization.

Bryce led while Bartowski kept up a constant wall of questions, like a child who had just learned the power of the word 'why'. Tommy's unwilling partner fended them all off, while he walked with sureness through the unmarked halls until they came to a stop in front of an unmarked door in the middle of a lengthy corridor.

Reaching into a pocket, Bryce produced three pairs of nonstandard sunglasses. "I … uhh … highly recommend wearing these in here. Without them, well, it's a different place." Tommy caught the meaning immediately. These provided protection against the hypnotic power of the images and sounds of the Intersect. He donned his immediately and felt his senses dull.

Past the surprisingly heavy door, Tommy found himself in a mostly white room with multiple images and indistinct sounds emanating from all four walls and the ceiling. He looked around with a sense of wonder bordering on awe. Bartowski had a very different reaction. "Projecting the images and sounds? Whatever for? That's a huge waste of resources."

Bryce shrugged. "Sarah insisted." Bartowski furrowed his brows but nodded. Tommy fell a half-step behind the pair as the smaller man led his friend to a control panel. "The glitch only shows up in a particular sequence. It's hard to spot." His fingers danced over the control panel. Distantly, a new sound emerged – like a siren, but it was muffled like all other sounds and images by the glasses and ear plugs.

Bartowski watched the wall intently, then shook his head. "I didn't catch that. Run it again." The same images played – a tiger, a bookshelf, a young boy in a baseball uniform, and a large fingerprint. "Hmm…maybe…" Bartowski took off his glasses which also pulled out his ear plugs, saving Tommy from performing that task.

Bryce's fingers clicked rapidly on the keypad – the sounds penetrating the rest of the cacophony surprisingly well. Suddenly, a whole stream of images exploded from all directions. Even with the protective polarization and earplugs, Tommy found it difficult to block out the sounds and images. With no such defense, Bartowski stood rigid, slightly trembling, as the wall of sensory input overwhelmed him.

Each second took an hour to pass. And soon the seconds became minutes. Three. Five. Ten. Twelve. Finally, after fourteen minutes and eleven seconds, the walls went blank and the only sound was the now-clearer wailing of a siren. In front of him, Charles Bartowski fell to the floor, still stiff as a board.

_OK, so review. Past the transitions and into the meat of the matter again. What do you think?_


	29. Boom

_I've been sick, so I can only hope this is cogent. It looked good enough to me, so I published it._

**Intersect Room  
8:53 p.m.**

When Chuck fell to the ground, Bryce immediately ran over and checked his vitals. Tommy honestly hadn't had any idea what to expect when he found out about the possibility of a human Intersect. The process was apparently not without its price, but the relief on Bryce's face indicated that his friend wasn't dead. That was good to know, but the critical questions – was he sane and could he remember what he had just seen – were still to be answered.

"What happened?" Bryce asked Tommy, with a hesitant whine that indicated he might not want to know the answer.

"Not sure. Nobody's ever done this before. How long do we have?" Some clinical part of his brain was recording this event, so that he could brief his superiors, but he had no time for curiosity now. Seconds were fleeing past, each bringing an increased likelihood of unwanted complications.

His unwilling accomplice checked the computer where he'd worked earlier. "Only fourteen minutes left. I didn't expect the data transfer to take so long."

Without another word, they picked up Chuck by his armpits and knees, heading towards the exit from the room and then from the entire building. Once again, Bryce led, though Tommy had a pretty good understanding of the layout already. _CIA types always think alike._

The deadweight of Chuck's nearly-lifeless body slowed them significantly. Bryce should have known by now that his place was not to ask questions, and the physical effort required was nontrivial. Despite those factors, he apparently couldn't help himself. "Is he going to be OK?"

Tommy weighed the benefits of answering. On the one hand, Bryce's cover as a mole was completely blown. On the other hand, killing him at this point seemed a waste. He had skills, but it would be easy to pull the trigger if the other man didn't accept the Fulcrum way. Neither outcome had Bryce sharing what he heard now – and a miracle escape wouldn't be hurt by this information. So he answered honestly, "I don't know. Like I said, nothing like this has ever been done successfully. But your boy here flashed some skills in DC that nobody'd ever seen before. So we're hoping it will all work out."

"Hoping? You don't know?"

"No."

They moved quietly a bit longer before footsteps echoed down the corridor from the direction in which they were walking. One benefit of letting Bryce lead was that Tommy had a clear view ahead. A guard skidded around a corner shouting "Stop!" But Tommy had already prepared.

He had quickly transferred both of Chuck's knees to the crook of his left arm. His right hand drew his pistol and took one shot, over Bryce's shoulder. In an instant, the guard was missing most of his face.

Bryce's reaction was interesting. He glanced over his shoulder at the guard and back at Tommy. Then he paled further, as the enormity of the situation finally seemed to take hold. That was good. If he was ever going to be of any more value, he had to learn how large the stakes were.

Tommy thought he should have understood that earlier, when he himself had first recruited Bryce by spelling out his very limited options. At the very least, he had proven to be a most valuable plant. He had followed orders well enough that the only lives at stake that night were the three of theirs and not the others two of them had discussed earlier.

**

* * *

**

**Outside the Intersect Building  
8:57 p.m.**

Casey pulled up to the guard station in a black mood. The Intersect building was lit from within by intermittent flashes of red, which could mean only one thing. The alarms had been triggered. Something bad was happening at the location. That information was not a surprise, but confirmation of a disaster in-progress never failed to infuriate him.

The guard at the front gate looked more like a rent-a-cop or an FBI agent (two equally unappealing options to Casey) than anybody who really understood what was going on. The wooden barrier blocked his path, so at least one thing had been done correctly. Casey already his identification out and was passing it out of the car as the guard stammered, "I – identification?"

With shaking hands, the man looked at the card and at Casey. When he started to shine his flashlight into the back, something snapped. "Look! I'm the good guy here. I know what's going on. You have a simple job. After I'm inside, close the barrier and don't open it up for anyone except myself. I mean, no one. Is that clear?"

"Uhhh…yes. Yes, sir!" The guard even managed a sketchy salute which Casey did not dignify with a response.

After a moment, though, Casey had to growl out, "You need to let me in, though, numbskull."

"Right." A moment later, the barrier lifted and Casey pulled inside the complex. Behind him, the barrier closed.

A quick look at the building confirmed his earlier recollection – the place only had two entrances/exits. One was on the south-facing wall and the other faced west. By placing himself at the southwest corner, Casey would be able to cover both potential exits from a single location.

Larkin had seemingly been on a valuable ally, as had others. However, Casey had dealt with turncoats, moles, and other despicable vermin before. His duty and responsibilities were perfectly clear. He would shoot first and ask questions later.

**

* * *

**

**Somewhere in LA  
9:01 p.m.**

Sarah caught only the tiniest of glimpse of movement out of her peripheral vision. It didn't matter. In a fraction of a second, she swerved around the surprised bicyclist. Speed was of paramount importance.

Something was wrong. That's all she knew for certain. Something wasn't right at the Intersect. Her preparations had been immaculate, she knew. It offended her sense of propriety that something could potentially be wrong in a building she had secure personally. Nevertheless, she acknowledged that possibility with a cool, professional detachment.

Beside her, a red light flashed, like it had for the last 20ish minutes. It was her Intersect alarm. A security breach was in progress – a definite flaw in her plans. That was reasonably rare for Sarah, but no agent ever had all smooth sailing. It was only the best who could make even problematic situations resolve satisfactorily. She had made a living doing that, though the stakes had never been as high as with the Intersect project.

The concept of a failed assignment, the first real such one in her record, paled in comparison to another concern, however – the one she barely let herself acknowledge. The voice on the phone had been confused, primarily. She replayed the short conversation in her head. Had she heard the terror or was she simply imagining it now that she knew something was wrong?

She pushed a little harder on the accelerator and the speedometer edged past 85. A moment later, she eased up again and returned under 80 mph. Even that was dangerous in the area where she now drove. But she had to do it.

The thought of leaving this location had been painful for some time – more painful than it ever had been before. The notion of Chuck, _her_ Chuck, safely at home and cursing the end of the assignment had sustained her. He might be unhappy, but that image was alive and healthy. Now, she skirted between two equally unacceptable disasters – arriving too late and not arriving at all. Both ended the same way, with the wrong person in a pool of his own blood.

That thought again made the buildings and vehicles around her seem to blur. Speed was an ally – the ballet with death a distraction she desperately needed. She tried to lose herself in the drive, in the zig-zag dance, in the sensory overload triggering razor-sharp reactions, in the rush of doing what she did so well.

Somehow, its allure was fading from an uncharacteristically low start. But the destination was so important, she found herself able to dodge death's ghoulish specter again and again, as she rocketed through the gathering gloom.

**

* * *

**

**Intersect Building  
9:03 p.m.**

Charles tried to make sense of things, as his body and mind slowly rebooted after a hard crash. The only other time he could remember feeling this bad was when Morgan had successfully spiked the drinks at a company picnic. It had been a hot day and Charles had drunk many cups of lemonade – more accurately, lot of vodka with a bit of lemon flavoring mixed in. The next day had convinced him of the need to avoid any suspicious liquids.

He tried to sort together the pieces of his evening, while his head pounded. _**A tiny tribe was using his skull for a drum in a Lakota sweat lodge ritual.**_ _Bryce had come by and they'd gone to see the Intersect. Somebody else was with them. And why were the individuals inside his head keeping such good rhythm? It wasn't matching his heart. Was something else causing the beat – a passing car or something?_

Opening his eyes was a huge mistake. _**Light stabbed him, each tiny candle of luminescence a dagger into his retinal rods.**_ He winced, shying away from the pain. _Wait. Candle of luminescence? Retinal rods? What?_

His attention tried to focus on what he'd glimpsed before squeezing his eyes back shut. White paneling – like a ceiling. _**The edge of a blinding sun – light only fractionally dimmed by a thin glass shield.**_ _Fluorescent lighting. He'd been looking up at the ceiling. He was inside._

Sounds came into focus next. _**Two sets of equally spaced thumps were evident, even over his personal cardiac rhythm.**_ _Personal cardiac rhythm? When did I start channeling Captain Awesome?_

Footsteps. The physical jolts matched the sounds. Hands under his arms and knees came into focus. He was being carried, reasonably rapidly. But where was he?

Information was vital. More was needed. He groaned and the pair carrying him stopped and put him down.

"Chuck? Are you OK, man?" Bryce's voice.

"Not really. Where are we?"

"Intersect building. Something happened back there and we've gotta get out of here. Can you walk?"

Charles climbed carefully to his feet, with the help of a wall. Without direct light, he was able to look around. A blank corridor that seemed vaguely familiar. Bryce's face. Another face. _**A tiger, a tank, a baby, an impossibly-outdated computer. Pieces falling together.**_ "You!" He tried to stagger away from the other man. "The Sweeney family. You cut them all to ribbons and you made the man watch. You're a monster."

The other man, _**Tommy Cordero, a.k.a. Marty Fenster, currently on the CIA's list of rogue agents**_, smiled broadly. "It works. Amazing." He breathed the words with a hint of reverence.

Charles glanced to his friend for some reassurance, some way to make sense of the situation, but Bryce had gone ghostly white. "Mary Beth … Clare Anne … he'd really do it." _Why was he listing his sisters?_

"Dr. Zarnow was right. It is possible." _Zarnow. __**The Boston Red Sox Logo in pinstripes. A Honda Civic. A photo negative of the stars and stripes**__._

Charles spoke almost without realizing it. "Current NSA specialist of brain research. Access to highly classified materials. Been selling secrets to the Chinese since 2005." As an afterthought, he added, "What?! Wait. Who?" He managed to maintain his grip on his consciousness, unlike his grip on the wall. The floor met his rear with a rather jarring bump, proving his present instability. _What is happening to me? How do I know these things?_

Suddenly, the man who called himself 'Tommy' was inches from Charles's face. "We are men you very much want to make and keep happy. Otherwise, we do mean things not only to you but a certain brunette and her doctor boyfriend. Now get up and run to Bryce's SUV before I get unpleasant."

The memory of blood-curdling screams and the joy on the rogue CIA's man face as he caused those screams did what confusion and the vague sense of being in a nightmare could not. Adrenaline surged and Charles rose to his feet. "Leave my sister out of this."

"That's up to you. Now get moving."

**

* * *

**

**Outside the Intersect Building  
9:06 p.m.**

Casey kept his rifle casually trained on the main entrance/exit from the building. His eyes constantly roved between the two exits and the surrounding space. The rifle was one of his toys, kept in the back of the Crown Vic. It had a nice laser scope and was deadly accurate. Special rounds limited the efficacy of Kevlar armor. The times when he could ethically use either the rifle or the rounds were distressingly rare, in his opinion.

His position was perfect, in a pool of shadow right at the corner of the building, which afforded him full visibility of the important locations. A few minutes earlier, the area had been bathed in light, but a quick shot from his pistol had ended that problem. The resulting darkness served to both hide him and to make all the surrounding areas seem more brightly lit.

Motion at the main exit caught his attention. He sighted through the scope, with his finger starting to caress the trigger, preparing for the shot. The figure he saw, though, was the last one he expected to see. _Bartowski. What was he doing here? Was he involved in this, too?_

In the instant it took for him to not shoot, two more figures appeared, moving quickly. Larkin and Cordero. The rifle tracked their run effortlessly. It would be easy to stop them both and then determine if Bartowski needed similar persuasion.

His finger started to squeeze the trigger when he was thrown through the air by an explosion of noise and light. Shrapnel from the shredded bricks rained down around him and the rifle was torn from his hands. A wave of fire singed his clothes and hair but roared past too quickly to ignite anything.

Large portions of the building where the Intersect had been housed were gone. What remained was a smoking mess. Only two possible sources for the bomb came to mind. The first was an aerial bombing run, which seemed highly unlikely in the middle of the soaring buildings around him. The second was that the explosives he had carried in himself, overriding the detectors, were responsible. Larkin's presence made that much more likely. The CIPHER had been turned into a Trojan horse.

More distressingly, in the midst of the confusion of the blast, the architects of both the Intersect and its demise had disappeared.

**

* * *

**

**Nearing the Intersect Building  
9:07 p.m.**

Sarah instantly processed the flash. _Explosion._ Given the direction and the way the day was going, it had to be the Intersect. "Damn!" she swore softly to herself.

It was obvious to her that everything was going desperately wrong. It was possible the CIPHER had exploded to prevent what it viewed as an attack. Just as likely was the possibility that someone had determined the Intersect location and simply taken steps to destroy it.

In either case, the Porsche was a liability. It would mark her as another combatant in the fray, mark her as a target. She had to leave it outside, where it wouldn't be visible. Doing so gave her a chance, at least, of entering mostly unobserved and potentially providing an upper hand.

Twenty yards from the main entrance was a small building she hadn't had a chance to acquire and destroy yet. Now it provided both cover and protection to what had been the only thing in the entire world she cherished. That had changed only very recently. Her first stop was the main guard booth. If a guard was still there, it would be likely he hadn't been compromised and could help contain the situation. If he wasn't, that was another clue to understand what was happening.

Wraith-like, she slipped out of her car and started across the expanse of asphalt. Smoke and debris choked the air, helping hide her approach. Unfortunately, that same lack of visibility worked against her.

She was directly in the middle of the thin wooden arm that served as a barrier when fresh light from her right caught her attention. Headlights. Very close headlights from a large black SUV were careening at her at a speed that would barely have been slowed by a collision with her Porsche, let alone the flimsy contraption between her and it.

_Thoughts, reactions, predictions? How will Sarah survive? Will Casey shoot everybody? Impressions on the description of the Intersect in Chuck's brain? _


	30. Loaded Questions

_Thanks to Twototenth for an excellent last-minute beta. He really helped sandpaper away a bunch of rough spots that I couldn't clean up on my own._

**Outside the Remains of the Intersect Building  
9:03 p.m.**

Sarah knew she only had an instant to react. What had seemed a silly requirement a couple weeks ago suddenly became extraordinarily valuable information. Faster than the eye could follow, she reached to her ankle sheath, drew a knife, and threw.

Time seemed to stand still as she pictured its flight. Her aim was true. It had to be. Another part of her tracked her motion as she dodged and cowered to her left, away from the onrushing vehicle.

The instant Sarah's knife contacted the emergency button on the guard's station, steel poles encased deep in the ground shot up, supplementing the fragile wooden barricade with real power. It was too late for the SUV to stop or swerve, even if the driver had seen the small portion of the vehicle barrier which extended above ground. The resulting crash sent sparks and small pieces of the wreck (like the rearview mirrors) careening past Sarah. The screech of failing metal sounded in her ears.

It only took a second before she was back on her feet and running toward the newly-crippled vehicle with every sense on high alert. The smoke was starting to lift, but everything was still murky. The stench of gasoline and the fluids leaking from various other failed car parts overpowered everything else. Over the sound of the siren still wailing from the guard's station, a babble of voices could be heard.

Sarah's breath caught in her throat as she realized that one of those voices was Chuck's. Suddenly, the cold steel of her Smith & Wesson felt a lot less reassuring. How could she shoot if Chuck might be the one hit by her bullet? That question had a short answer – she couldn't. Cursing silently, she set off toward the mangled barriers which had fused together with the remains of the SUV. Bypassing the twisted steel and splintered wood would not be easy, but she saw a small opening she could use.

She had barely taken her first step before she heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being fired, followed an instant later by the ping of a bullet connecting with something metallic behind her. Her opponents didn't share her compunctions about shooting, which put her at a distinct disadvantage.

Altering course, she dove behind the relative safety of the guard's station. Another bullet whined by, indicating that she had been tracked. _It's a hostage situation. I can't shoot back._ She kept telling herself that, knowing it was a lie. But it was a comfort as she violated both her training and her instincts by allowing herself to be pinned in place by a single shooter.

**

* * *

**

**Outside the Remains of the Intersect Building  
9:07 p.m.**

Bryce had never before in his life known such fear. His best friend was nearly killed by nothing more than pictures and sounds, he'd been in close proximity to an exploding building and a great deal of gunfire, his SUV had been wrecked by something he never even saw, and he was now fleeing frantically through darkness and danger. He didn't know where he was running to, or even necessarily why. All he knew for certain was that the sprint provided a desperately-needed safety vent for his raging adrenaline.

To his left, Chuck also participated in their mad dash to nowhere. His reasons for running were much easier to articulate. The most important was the pistol leveled at his back. Confusion, fear, and lack of options contributed to his need to obey. With neither their current location nor their destination known, Chuck and Bryce raced blindly, following directions shouted from behind.

Before them, a wall materialized through the smoke-filled air. "Break right!" came the order. Bryce turned and now led the other two men in another seemingly-random direction. When another wall appeared, he turned automatically to run the only direction they could go without retracing their steps. Another wall appeared almost immediately, however. They had run down a blind alley.

He stopped, not knowing what to do. Tommy was the one leading from the rear. Let him figure it out.

The decision didn't take long. "I know you're back there," Tommy called out to the world at large. "I've heard you following us. But you haven't taken any shots." He smirked out loud, which was quite a feat. "Obviously, you find something or someone here too valuable to risk shooting."

Drawing a second gun, the Fulcrum agent pointed one at each BarLar executive and nodded with his head for them to go back the way they'd come while he almost whispered, "Slowly." His voice grew in volume as he called out, "Now, I don't particularly care which of these … men you find irreplaceable." 'Men' was said mockingly, as if Tommy viewed them as significantly less than that. "As long as we all agree that we don't want them shot, we'll have no problems. The three of us will just walk out of here, all of us safe. Understand?"

"What I understand," answered a feminine voice from the occluded air, "is that you are cornered and desperate. What I also understand is that you are alone and somewhere out there is an NSA agent who's probably mad that you dented his car."

A howl of pure rage came from another indeterminate direction. "My baby!!"

Feminine laughter; Sarah's laughter. Though he hadn't heard it in a long time, Bryce still recognized it. It was more macabre than he remembered. "OK, make that one definitely pissed-off NSA agent. His normal disposition is a little less pleasant than … well, I'd say a momma grizzly bear with her cubs in danger, but I've never actually known a grizzly to be so sarcastic and happy about it. I think you're in a bit of a bind."

Bryce wondered how Tommy would react. Sarah painted a pretty grim picture, but Bryce knew firsthand how resourceful and dangerous the man they hunted was. He also knew that neither he nor Chuck was viewed as more than bartering pieces, though with Chuck's new abilities, he was probably the more valued asset. Bryce shuddered involuntarily as he realized that he was probably just seen as really heavy armor.

Tommy's actual reaction surprised him. He laughed right back. "I think you're misunderstanding who is in a position of power here. The Intersect was destroyed. Yes, I had a hand in it. But killing two men just to get little old me is a heavy price to pay. Especially when one is so valuable." He sighted carefully at Chuck while making the last statement, causing Bryce's heart to skip – whether out of fear for his friend or relief for his own safety, even he couldn't say.

Silence. And then a whisper of movement that Tommy apparently noticed, too. In a moment, Chuck was between Tommy and that location. The Fulcrum man had moved behind Chuck and now held him tightly with his right arm, his gun pushed hard under the taller man's chin. Bryce was still covered by the gun in Tommy's left hand.

"C'mon," he rasped barely above a whisper, "we're leaving." He started to frogmarch an unwilling but unresisting Chuck in the direction of the movement. When Bryce didn't follow fast enough, Tommy shot the ground near his foot, causing him to jump.

A gasp followed the sound of the shot, and this time the direction was clear. In a moment, Sarah's distinct profile became visible. Tommy shifted even lower behind Chuck before gesturing for Bryce to lead the way yet again.

As they walked, Tommy talked. "You're not going to shoot, Sarah."

"I wouldn't count on that." The figure seemed to be studying them all intently.

"Ah, but I do. You have no angle. You've not shot yet, so you're obviously intent on saving at least one of these men. I don't know why. You want to shoot me, sure, for destroying your precious Intersect. But I have my own version right here with me. He's my insurance plan to get your compliance. Now, you're going to slide your gun over here to me and then we're all going to walk out."

Sarah's actions surprised her cover boyfriend. She sighed out an "OK". A split second later, the sound of metal sliding across asphalt sounded in their ears. She had actually complied. _Why? What sense did it make? She wouldn't just let them escape, would she?_

As Tommy leaned over to pick up the pistol, he momentarily moved his gun out of perfect alignment with Chuck. It was just a tiny instant of distraction, but it was enough. As his head dipped, a lower report sounded. Tommy's head pitched forward and both his pistols fired, but neither Bryce nor his friend were hit.

"Don't move!" Casey called, but the gun's click as a new round chambered echoed loudly in the enclosed space. The man himself appeared from behind them, with his gun trained on Bryce. His finger was tightening and Bryce felt consumed by his sense of guilt. He knew that Casey had every right to take the shot. He closed his eyes and fell into a fetal position, just waiting for the end.

But the end didn't come. As Bryce squeezed his eyes open a tiny crack, he understood. Chuck had interposed himself between the two of them. From behind, he could hear Sarah's racing feet.

"Out of the way, Bartowski!" Casey would have made a good drill sergeant, Bryce thought. "Now!"

"No! I don't think Bryce meant all this. He was just being used. You have to give him a chance to explain!"

"He worked with the enemy, Chuck." Sarah was closing in, too. "That makes him very dangerous."

"Dangerous, yes. Deserving of death, no!" Chuck still defended Bryce, who was cowering on the ground. Then Chuck's voice was soft in his ear as his entire body dropped to shield Bryce. "Why'd you do it, Bryce? Why?"

Bryce explained through sobs of fear and remorse. "He threatened my sisters. He had pictures of them. In their homes. Their churches. He knew everything about them. If I said anything, he said he'd kill them … and that he'd make me watch. I don't think he was bluffing. He said he had men in position and if he didn't check in periodically, they'd capture Mary Beth and Clare Anne and bring them. He knew their names and their address and even where they shop. I couldn't risk their lives. I just couldn't. And then, well, once I started, he made it easy to keep obeying. I'm sorry."

"Not as sorry as you're going to be." Casey loomed over them. The NSA man looked at his CIA counterpart. "I'll take the treacherous worm. You take the one who was **maybe** just in the wrong place at the wrong time and find out what happened."

The look in Casey's eyes made Bryce wish he'd just been shot instead.

**

* * *

**

**Sarah's Porsche  
9:32 p.m.**

Sarah looked over Chuck, who sat quietly in the passenger seat. He had briefly explained the evening's events in a dead-sounding monotone before trailing off into silence. She could make some pretty good guesses how he felt – that numb feeling that accompanies the draining of adrenaline, the ever-present fear that the worst was still to come, the sense of betrayal about Bryce, and a host of other possibilities. Including the worst one, that he would be angry – angry that she had brought such a thing into his life. It was a natural reaction. She wouldn't blame him if he never wanted to speak to her again.

She just let him sit and think. He normally carried their conversations, anyway. And if he needed time, well, she very much understood that. It would be nice to hear his voice (his real voice), but prying for her own desires was not a chasm she could cross – not yet, anyway.

When he finally did speak, his voice sounded tired and resigned. "So, where are you taking me?" Not his normal 'where are **we** going', she noted sadly. _He used to think of me as a compatriot. Now, after one incident, I'm a captor. What's worse is that I can't argue with his assessment._

"To the BarLar offices, actually. There's a good secure connection there, and we need to report in. Beckman and Graham have both been informed a little about tonight's episode and will probably be waiting for us."

Chuck nodded slowly. "And what are they going to do to me?"

Sarah took a deep breath as she pondered how to answer that question. A situation like this was largely unprecedented, but the words 'secure bunker' and 'exhaustive examination' came to mind. She spoke carefully, to avoid lying. "I don't really know, Chuck. I can see a few possibilities." It was her turn to search for words and come up empty. She wanted to ask him what he really wanted, but she couldn't. Her mouth would simply not make the sounds.

As she downshifted to stop at a red light, his hand covered hers. "Will you be … wherever it is I end up?"

The air in the car seemed insufficient to breathe after that question. In what was becoming an uncomfortable habit, it took her a few seconds to find her voice. "Chuck. I'm … I'm a CIA agent. I don't get to make the rules. I just follow them."

Beside her, Chuck made a face, but he kept his hand over hers. She drove with her left hand alone on the steering wheel for the remainder of the trip to BarLar. Once there, however, his hand left hers and they walked inside purposefully.

It only took a few minutes to establish the secure connection and to get Graham and Beckman, both looking a bit less perfectly serene than normal, onto the line. For once, they weren't sharing an office. A split-screen showed Beckman on the left and Graham on the right. Normal protocol told her that their screens would be similarly divided between two feeds.

In the BarLar conference room, Sarah stood at attention, while Chuck sat on the couch, slightly off to one side. The large TV provided them a good view of both intelligence heads.

"Agent Walker," Beckman spoke immediately, her voice tight and threatening, "this had better be good." She surely noted Chuck's presence, but she didn't question it – not immediately, at least.

Sarah explained the entire incident as she understood it – Bryce's months-long forced duplicity, Tommy's reappearance and true nature as a Fulcrum agent, the destruction of the CIPHER and the Intersect building, and Tommy's eventual fate at the hands of John Casey. She was saving the Intersect news for last.

"Where is Major Casey now?" Beckman wanted to know. For the most part, they'd been silent as she had given her report.

"With Larkin. We felt it unwise to leave him alone. I believe he's trying to ascertain the location of his sisters, so that we can send protective details. I am certain he is also discovering everything Bryce ever knew about Tommy Cordero." Sarah wasn't sure she wanted to know the exact method of persuasion.

"Our records here are slim. He was CIA, as you mentioned, but he didn't have particularly high clearance. How would he have known about the Intersect project?"

"Zarnow." It was the first word Chuck had spoken since they'd been in the building. The name meant little to Sarah, but it obviously held a great deal of significance for the two intelligence heads.

Graham glared his question at Chuck. "That's a pretty serious accusation, Charles. Are you certain?"

He shook his head. "No. But that's what Marty ... errr … Tommy said at one point. 'Zarnow was right. Amazing.' Zarnow's a double agent, by the way."

For a moment, both Graham and Beckman were silent. They both looked away from center, focusing, presumably, on one stream to the exclusion of the other. _Were they looking at each other? Or at Chuck?_

"What did you call him?" was Graham's question.

Simultaneously came Beckman's, "What do you mean double agent?"

Chuck seemed to process both questions at the same time. "Tommy Cordero also goes by Marty Fenster. And Zarnow has been selling US government secrets to the Chinese for years. He's the main leak involved in the Guangzhou disaster of '05. He's also the information funnel they used to help design their H-8 and H-9 stealth bombers."

_H-9? There's no H-9._ Apparently, her reaction was not shared, however. Beckman's voice was crisp and precise. "How do you know about the H-9? Or Guangzhou, for that matter?"

Chuck looked uncomfortably around the room, before his eyes finally settled on Sarah. He spoke directly to her, even though she knew the words were for all of them. "They showed me the Intersect – all the files. It's in me now. I can't … I can't access all of it. It comes in these weird … flashes somehow. Tommy's other alias. Zarnow's actions. They just … appeared in my brain. I don't know how or why."

Again, the two superiors stared intently at something. Sarah presumed it was each other. "Stay right there. Don't move!" Beckman barked the order before the screen went black. Sarah knew they were discussing Chuck's fate privately. She wondered if her destiny was similarly tied up in negotiations. In her heart, she knew the two were disconnected, at least in that conversation.

"Chuck," she said quietly, walking over and sitting down next to him, "what does it mean, exactly? The Intersect being in your head?"

He tapped his temple with his right hand. "I can feel it all in there. Can't quite access it the way I want, though." Grimacing, a look of pain shot through him. "Nope. Doesn't work that way."

"How does it work then?"

"From cues, a lot like the CIPHER worked. Primarily visual cues, though a fair number of auditory ones are in there as well. I see or hear something, and then … poof … I know a bunch more about them. Stuff that was in the Intersect."

"Do you know anything more about me?" She said it casually, but her nerves were on end. _Did he know about her past? What would he think when he found out?_

"I told you. Darn thing doesn't work like that." He paused, even longer than his normal speech patterns. "I did try, though. Is that OK?" Sarah nodded, but she wasn't entirely certain it was. She felt a lot better when he continued, "But it doesn't matter. Not really. I already know who you are. It doesn't matter so much who you were."

Sarah's head swam and her heart skipped a beat. _Really? You accept who I am? How? Why? And why does it matter so much to me what you think when it's never mattered what others think before? _Before she could form a cogent reply, the screens flickered back to life, and Sarah jumped up as if stung. For a moment, she had almost forgotten she was a CIA agent. She had felt … normal. It was startlingly comforting.

Even more surprisingly, it was Chuck who spoke first. "So … what are my options? Can you get this thing out of my head?"

Beckman pursed her lips, as if the thought hadn't occurred to her. "I don't honestly know. Let me call the country's only remaining expert that we can trust." She waved with her fingers, as if to indicate the rest of them could do what they wanted while she talked.

In the room, the sound of Billy Joel's "The Stranger" filled the air as Chuck's phone picked that highly inopportune moment to ring. Sarah looked at him in amazement as he gave her a sheepish grin and then actually answered it. _Didn't he know that he was supposed to just wait? A person like Beckman didn't take kindly to being trivialized._

"Hello?" The word had an echo to it. Her distaste at his faux pas turned to amazement as she realized she could hear both ends of the conversation – one live from Chuck and the other from Beckman's video stream.

"Yes, I have a question for you. Do you believe it is possible to remove imprinted Intersect images from a person's brain?" Chuck's face was a study in disbelief and amazement as Beckman's voice sounded in both ears. Sarah watched fascination as the realization dawned on Chuck that he was now the source that Beckman expected to resolve difficult questions about the Intersect.

After deliberately hanging up his phone and stashing it in his pocket, Chuck addressed the web camera directly again. "I see. I'll have to think about that. Can I ask another question?" Beckman and Graham both nodded, so he proceeded. "Would you let me remove this, if … if it's even possible?"  
It was amazing how quickly he understood the issues and took charge of the conversation. Sarah was in awe. Somehow, he had gone from smart and geeky to smart and in control. She found both combinations incredibly attractive – on him, at least.

Graham fielded the question. "We have talked about the possibility of a human Intersect at some length. You were, honestly, the only potential candidate. Zarnow convinced us the risk was too high, even for you. We see now that he did it for his own ends, but that doesn't change the fact that some of our earlier experiments have proven conclusively that the ability to remember so much information and retain any sanity is very rare."

Beckman took up the speech. "The risks and benefits of a person in your position can't be overstated. You will be a target, but you could prevent so many potential disasters. Our agents are always preaching to us how they need fast answers and intelligence in the field. You would be a great asset to our country. At the same time, we can't simply have all our secrets walking around unescorted. The risk is way too high, especially with Fulcrum knowing or at least suspecting your identity."

"As we see it," Graham resumed, "you have three options. Remove the Intersect definitively; life in an underground bunker where we can guarantee your safety; or … become an agent and a hero to your country."

The hesitation and confusion written all over Chuck's face were plain for all to see. It was obviously not something he'd thought about before, and all of the choices had their unpleasant sides. Sarah desperately wanted to know what he would choose, for more than professional reasons. But even more anxiously, she needed to know what factors were going to drive that decision. Vainly, she attempted to surreptitiously catch his eye, hoping to reassure him with confidence she didn't feel.

When he spoke, it was slowly and with obvious effort, as if each word cost him a significant portion of some finite reserve he was storing. "Can I at least have some time to think it over?"

"You have twenty-four hours. Consider well." Beckman shut off her screen, after delivering what essentially amounted to an ultimatum.

Graham stayed on the line as Chuck stood and said, "I'm going for a walk. I won't go far. I can't run, can I?"

"Not from us," Sarah replied in a voice she hoped was empathetic. It was true. Hiding from the CIA or the NSA was very difficult and required training Chuck simply didn't have. She hated to evaluate his chances so negatively, but the professional side of her mind took over. _Thirty-six hours at the outside. Probably only twelve. If the Intersect is really good, three days. No chance of anything longer._

Nodding, he exited the conference room, leaving Sarah alone. Except Graham was still virtually present, too, and he caught her eye with a steely look. "Keep your eyes on him, Sarah."

He stayed on the line until she replied, "I will sir …" Then he ended the call, so he missed her continuation, "… for as long as I possibly can."

_Whew. Lots happening here. Thoughts/comments?_


	31. Finally!

_Thanks to Twototenth for assuaging (some of) my nerves about this chapter and providing helpful feedback. I have to just publish it now, otherwise I'll edit forever and never be quite satisfied.  
_

**Malibu Beach  
****Outside Los Angeles****  
January 17  
1:13 a.m.**

Charles stared over the endless ocean. He had started yards from the surf's edge, but now the relentless waves had climbed to his perch and were eating at the sand under his feet. He could feel the individual grains escaping between his bare toes. In minutes, the water would reach his seat. In hours, it might be over his head. Some part of him wanted it to swallow him in its tumbling chaos.

So many thoughts warred within him. Under them all lurked one constant – fear. Everywhere he looked, every plan he considered was fraught with peril, primarily to himself but also to others he cared about – Ellie, Morgan, Awesome, the BarLar staff. Sarah. A fresh jolt of adrenaline accompanied each new thought of dangerous possibilities, keeping him wide awake despite the hour.

_I could be a hero. I've played that role in quite a few video games – and it's so very satisfying to stop evil. But what about the danger? Haven't I learned by now that I'm not good enough to take even Morgan in a shooter? How can I handle real bullets flying at me, instead of virtual ones? When I fail … no, if I fail, I won't be able to just press a button and get a new life to try again. The game of real life gives you only one chance._

_Do I have other options? Can I remove the Intersect? I'm not a brain expert, but it seems like I've been programmed much like the CIPHER was. If I just overwrote the area with other images or similar images with nothing embedded, that should work, shouldn't it? But am I willing to mess around with something that might kill me? Or, just as bad, render me a complete idiot who can't even feed himself?_

_It was so much easier when the government was just telling me what to do. Building hardware was easy. This decision affects my entire life. The only other time I did that, it didn't end so well. _Jill's image flashed across his mind, along with the divorce documents he'd signed so recently._ It took me months to get up the courage to ask her to marry me. How in the world can I make this kind of decision so fast?_

_What about going underground – just take the safe route? I would probably eat well and have time to play video games and relax. Creature comforts are nice. But I would be a prisoner, condemned for no crime. Could I live without seeing Ellie or Morgan? What would the cover story be – would they worry? How can I choose something that would hurt them so? I can't be that selfish._

_Really, I have only two choices. Destroy it or embrace it. Yin or yang? Come on, Chuck. Decide. Think._

_What would Ellie do? What would she tell me to do? She's all about saving lives – saving others. Can I do less? But she doesn't have to risk her life as a doctor. Not that any risk to her would dissuade her from trying to save lives – it wouldn't even slow her. I know her too well. She'd just do it. But she would try to talk me out of it. She'd tell me I needed to live my life. But isn't this a way to live my life?_

_It's not like I could ask her anyway, but I can't decide this on my own. I've never been good with alone. I need somebody to talk to._

As if summoned by his thought, a figure shrouded in darkness came and sat on the sand just to his left. He wondered if it could be the one person he desperately wanted it to be. Anyone else would be a disappointment. One of the reasons he'd chosen this officially-closed stretch of beach was because it seemed deserted that winter night, forcing him to be alone with his thoughts. The other person didn't speak – just sitting and staring over the water, like he did.

In some ways, the presence of another individual was comforting. Charles felt unreasonably demanding at that time, however, and not just any person would suffice for long. He barely dared to turn his head to discover if lady luck had finally smiled on him. When he did, Sarah's distinct features were clearly recognizable, giving his heart an excuse to leap for joy.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was curious but not accusatory

Her reply was surprisingly meek and almost defensive. "I just thought … you looked you could use someone to talk to." She started to turn away. "If I'm not that person-"

He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. "You are. I was just thinking how I needed to talk this through. How did you know?"

"I'm not totally insensitive."

"I never thought you were."

They fell into silence again, feeling the ocean roar and crash along with the world turning beneath them. The water stopped climbing – fewer and fewer waves reached Charles's toes. It didn't seem to take long before it receded far enough that the sand was dry and comfortable again.

"Tell me." He stopped to swallow, knowing he couldn't have asked a question like this even six hours ago. "Tell me what Beckman meant when she talked about disasters."

Sarah addressed the sea, instead of him, her voice sounding far away even though he could feel the heat emanating from her body. "Some of them, you already know about. The hotel bombing. The Santa Monica pier explosion. Remember the man who poisoned Ellie? That locket he escaped with contained stolen access codes for nuclear silos. The danger around us is always growing." She paused, as if uncertain about whether to continue. Eventually, she did, her voice even fainter. "Some you don't know about yet. Just in the time I've been in Los Angeles, we've missed so much … too much. Like a major weapons deal, where an international arms dealer sold plutonium under our noses. A Chinese spy was killed downtown – I don't know who did it – but their government blames ours. Counterfeit currency plates passed through town. An agent died trying to recover a drug diamond. So much that we weren't able to stop."

"An agent died? Are you talking about that day back in October when you came into the office crying?" He turned to observe her as he spoke. She nodded. "You think … that I … that the Intersect would have saved her?"

"Possibly. Hopefully. All these failed missions come back to the same thing. We didn't have enough information. Now I'm not saying having Intersect information along would have changed all of those – or any of them, necessarily – but I know that we can't do our jobs without knowing what we're up against. If you process things as fast as you say, well, it would mean a world of possibilities would open up." Her eyes left the ocean for a minute and searched his face. Then she hastily added, "But that doesn't mean you have to take on the burden of being the Intersect. It's not …. Don't take this too lightly. Your future really has to be your decision."

_Do I really have a choice? How can I turn away if my fear will doom someone like Sarah?_ Aloud, he sighed. "I know. It's just … difficult."

They sat together under the stars for a long time without saying a word. They didn't touch more than the occasional shoulder bump or knee sway, but Charles was greatly comforted by Sarah's presence.

Finally, Charles broke the silence. "Are you going to stay here all night?"

"If you are. I mean, if that's OK with you."

"Orders?" Charles tried to imagine what it would be like to have to follow orders all the time – the discipline required and whether he could possibly measure up.

"My orders were to watch over you and to protect you." She furrowed her brows as she deliberated briefly before continuing. "It was my choice to come and sit with you."

"In that case, I have a request."

"No guarantees, but I'm honored you would ask."

"First, can you give me a ride home? I came here in a taxi, and I really need some sleep. But, later, would you go out to dinner with me? So we can talk some more?"

She smiled broadly. "It would be my pleasure."

**

* * *

**

**Far Niente Ristorante  
5:12 p.m.**

It felt strange to be at a restaurant at that time of day – hours earlier than normal for Charles. Given the circumstances, he had slept surprisingly well until early afternoon, although waking to Casey's grim visage in his bedroom had been a rude surprise. He had worked diligently to get out from under the NSA man's thumb as quickly as possible, and since he apparently required constant surveillance, that meant rejoining Sarah. Charles didn't even try to figure out which appealed to him more. An earlier dinner also was attractive to his stomach, which was thrown off a bit by the weird schedule of the preceding day. So he made the odd reservation time of 5:15 p.m. Arriving early was habit for him, so he checked in and sat down at the bar to wait.

When Sarah arrived a few minutes later, Charles immediately cupped his chin his hand. She looked absolutely ravishing wearing a dazzling red dress that would have looked more natural next to a tuxedo than the casual pants and tie he had donned. The dress left her arms bare while accentuating her long legs and gorgeous figure. Her golden hair fell in ringlets framing her face, every glimmering strand immaculately in place. No model on any runway ever looked any better. Most important of all to Charles, a broad smile split her face when she saw him.

"You … you look absolutely amazing," he managed to stammer out in a terrible understatement, his hand still supporting his chin.

"Why are you holding your chin like that? Did you get hurt?" Sarah asked protectively.

He finally returned her broad smile. "Just trying to keep my tongue off the floor. Wow! I am going to make so many people jealous tonight."

Her small giggle grew into a full laugh. "How long have you been planning that one?"

"Not long. Just an honest reaction. I'm amazed I can form any words at all."

She smirked softly as the maître d' appeared and led them to their seats. Once they were seated, Charles couldn't hold his voice any longer. "I'm so glad you were able to come. I want to talk."

His somber tone resonated with Sarah, and her smile faded into a more serious expression. "What is it, Chuck?"

"How do you do it? Risk your life every day?"

"I don't know. I don't really think about it much. Like you said, it's every day. I guess I've just gotten used to it." Sarah grabbed a breadstick and put it to her mouth, but she didn't take a bite, as if realizing that action might be too offhand for the level of conversation. "And … if I think about it too much, I'd probably just get scared. And scared can lead to dead very quickly."

"So you're not scared?"

Her expression darkened momentarily, as if some unpleasant thought crossed her mind – some fear she couldn't express. "I'm not a fool. Of course I have fears. But I've learned to ignore them."

_What else have you learned to ignore? Will I lose some of my humanity, too, if I do what I've decided I have to do?_ He knew he shouldn't, but he couldn't stop himself from voicing one of those thoughts aloud. "What else have you learned to ignore?"

She stared at him hard, before answering with significant care. "Too much. And, at the same time, too little."

"Sometime, I'd like to hear more about that." He shook off that train of thought for another. "What about orders? How do you get used to no freedom?"

She shrugged a little more easily. "Keeps me busy and useful. What more could I want?"

"Time to yourself. Play time. Freedom."

"I have those. Some, anyway. How much does anyone really have, though?"

"Good point. So, what about tonight? Are you here by your choice or orders?"

She looked uncomfortable. "Both. I would have come regardless, but Graham … _encouraged_ me to spend time with you. He thinks I can convince you to keep the Intersect in your head. Even if I hadn't wanted to, I'd be here tonight."

"Yours is not to reason why, yours is but to do and dine?" It was a terrible pun, but it served to lighten the tension that had been growing. What started as muted giggles for both soon turned into laughter a little out-of-place in the quiet restaurant. _She even likes my corny jokes. What an amazing woman._

As they settled back down, the food arrived. Charles concentrated on the meal and the view, grateful for the brief escape from the pressures and demands of making a choice – or, more accurately, from trying to build the courage necessary to follow through on the decision he'd already made.

A few minutes passed with no more than eye and foot contact. At one point, Charles stretched his legs and bumped into Sarah's ankle. She responded with a quick squeeze of the offending foot, which he reciprocated. They stayed entangled below the knee after that.

Eventually, though, one hunger sated, Charles became consumed the hunger to talk in more depth. Unfortunately, the restaurant had filled in around them and being overhead would be awkward at best and potentially dangerous in many circumstances. A walk proved to be a mutually-agreeable compromise, so they left the restaurant and started wandering aimlessly down the streets.

This was his best chance. He forced himself to speak. "So …" he began, not quite sure how to continue, even after thinking about it for some time, "Graham obviously wants me to become an agent. I have some thoughts of my own. But … but I want to know what you think."

Surprise and skepticism lit up her eyes. "What I think? Why would that matter?"

_Because I respect your opinion. Because your reaction might influence my decision. For a thousand reasons I can't quite say._ "Maybe because you're already an agent and you have a perspective I can't share. Maybe because you're the only one I can talk to about it. I mean, Ellie would freak; Morgan would have a nerdgasm at the thought; and Casey, well, no mere mortal can have an actual conversation with Casey."

She saw right through him and his attempt at camouflage. "And the real reason you asked me?" Her eyes searched his and he returned the gesture. In her eyes, he saw true concern and compassion. He found a soul – maybe a little marred, maybe a little jaded, but a kindred soul nonetheless. More pressingly, he found the courage to speak.

"I'm really thinking about doing it. Seriously. Becoming an agent like Graham wants. But I want to know I can do it and still be me. Can you possibly explain what it's really like?"

"Chuck," Sarah said, stopping their walk and looking deep into his eyes. Her eyes brimmed with emotions that Charles could only guess at – pleading, fear, expectation, hope. But was she pleading for him to change his mind? Or not to change his mind? "The life of a spy, or an analyst working in the field … it's very difficult. It's a life of constant danger. You know that. But it also comes with a lot of isolation…. When I signed on … well, let's just say I didn't lose anyone. But that's not true for you – I know how much Ellie and Morgan mean to you. You couldn't tell them. You'd be leaving so much behind. I won't lie. It's hardly a normal life."

He was able to bear her stare, to return her gaze as forcefully as she gave it to him. So often he'd felt compelled to look away, feeling unworthy of her attention, but this was not one of those moments. On the contrary, a wide smile threatened to break out on his face, but he kept it in check, for the moment, anyway. "Normal? Sarah, I've tried normal. Look where that got me. My company co-founder is being held for destroying irreplaceable government equipment. My ex-wife is pregnant and I'm about the only man in Los Angeles County who _couldn't_ be the father. Normal!? Normal is not the life for me. Once upon a time, I thought it maybe was. I thought I would be happy being a normal guy, with a normal life." Gathering her hands into his, he slowly and carefully emphasized each word. "I … was … wrong. I want extraordinary."

"Extraordinary? Like what?" Her tone was coy and teasing, but Charles knew her well enough to detect the underlying uncertainty and nervousness. It was like she feared their feelings for each other.

"Well, for starters, you, not to put too fine a point on it." This time, the grin did break out, making his cheeks hurt. He would have felt silly, were it not for the brilliant glow of his special smile appearing on Sarah's face. And with that, he had no choice but to lean in and kiss her.

The kiss started slowly, almost hesitantly. It quickly grew in passion, and soon Charles's mind was filled with nothing but the feel of her lips against his, the feel of her tongue against his, and the tremble of his body.

**

* * *

**

**BarLar, Inc.  
9:37 p.m.**

Sarah and Chuck arrived to find Casey waiting for them. His Sig-Sauer sat on the table unobtrusively, but Sarah noted that it ominously aimed where the other two chairs waited, with its positioning and angle ideal for quick grabbing by the seated man. It could be nothing more than coincidence, but her highly attuned danger signals were flashing. _Would Graham go so far as to eliminate Chuck? Not without reasonable grounds, but he wouldn't hesitate to destroy a rogue Intersect. And Beckman wouldn't so much as blink an eye to give an elimination order for any cause. I just hope Chuck's decision helps them see reason. _She checked her weapon inventory quickly and hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"Evening," Casey managed. He nodded his head at the couple. "Come together, did you?"

They both shrugged – Sarah easily, Chuck a bit more uncomfortably. After they sat conspicuously close together, a pall fell over the room. Chuck started to reach for her hand at one point, but a quick shake of her head warned him of the danger inherent in that action at that time. It was a relief when the connection finally established.

"Good evening, agents, Mr. Bartowski." Beckman started speaking as soon as she and Graham appeared on the screen. She was sitting and he stood behind, as was fairly typical. "We have some good news to report. Thanks to the efforts of Major Casey, Mr. Larkin's two sisters were successfully evacuated. They are now undergoing training and will be placed into our special protection program. We can't guarantee their safety – especially with the threat posed by Fulcrum – but we'll do everything we can."

"Now," Graham continued, "on to the real business. Charles, what decision have you come to?"

"Hold on! What about Bryce?" _I should have known he'd ask. That man is too loyal sometimes._

"Officially, he was killed when the Intersect exploded. You and Walker will both attend the funeral. And Walker? You will be expected to cry. Only the six of us know differently." Beckman again handled the explanation. "In reality, Mr. … Anderson … will be working to repay his debt to his country, under highly supervised conditions."

_Interesting, bunker but not prison. Maybe they think they can rehabilitate or find some value in him. I don't think so, but stranger things have happened. I mean, they found value in me._

"Which brings us back to the crux of this meeting. Charles, what have you decided?"

Sarah could feel Chuck's gaze. She returned it and gave him a slight nod of encouragement. Even though she didn't know precisely what he had planned, she trusted him. As soon as she realized that, other thoughts cascaded through her mind. _I trust him?!? I don't trust anyone, not even Graham. Not really. But it's true, isn't it? I do trust him. Wow._

"First off, I want to say … thank you … for letting me make this decision instead of just demanding something of me. I've thought really hard about this. I just hope you meant what you said about … about my decision mattering." For someone who claimed to hate public speaking, Chuck could certainly captivate an audience. Even Casey seemed to be hanging on his every word. "I … I'm not cut out to be a hero. But I don't have to be. I can help people … help you be better heroes. That's what I want to do. Being the Intersect is the best way I can help."

He took a deep breath before continuing, silencing the intelligence heads with nothing more than a look. "I know I'm not really in a position to give orders, but I do think certain things just make sense. And if you disagree, I … I might have to change my mind. Obviously, the more people who know … what I am, the greater the danger. One condition of my acceptance is that I continue to work with Sarah … and Casey." The last two words seemed to be forced past a lump.

Beckman's glare would have sent most men running from the room in fear, but Chuck withstood it for a few seconds before turning away. Surprisingly, however, Graham stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and spoke first. "Don't think you can presume to continue to dictate terms to us, Bartowski. We'll agree to this, but only because it makes sense, as you stated."

The almost conciliatory tone of his words triggered some unexpected reserve of strength in Chuck, however. He fixed the intelligence heads with a steely gaze of his own. "You … you guys need me."

Amazingly, Beckman broke eye contact first. "Yes … well your ideas were all part of the plan, anyway. Here's the rest. Officially, BarLar is going to almost cease to exist. The story will be that Mr. Larkin's mistake caused the explosion and that you can't find any other business. You will be the sole remaining employee, Mr. Bartowski. All of your surviving … colleagues will be fired."

"I can't just fire them – they're my friends," Chuck objected. "Isn't there anything we can do for them?"

"We found openings at a local BuyMore. They will have employment … for as long as they can keep a position, at least." Her voice was steely, as she was obviously unused to interruptions. "Your work at BarLar, will primarily serve as a cover for your family and friends. You will be working with Walker and Casey to uncover as much information as possible. Casey will work on improving the security of the building. Walker will handle your training."

Casey's smile at that news matched Sarah's own. It was perfect. Chuck, however, had another question. "Aren't you interested in having the whole team build another hardware Intersect?"

"Not at this time," Sarah's boss answered. "With the danger posed by Fulcrum inside our organizations, the risks outweigh the benefits. For now, you are the only Intersect. Welcome aboard, Charles."

"Please," he said through a glassy smile, "call me Chuck!"

_**The End**_

_

* * *

_

_That does it. This chapter completes the longest thing I have ever written (longer than my dissertation, even.) I would love thoughts on this last chapter, the whole story, whatever._

_The overarching tale is not completely over just yet, though. I will have an epilogue appearing before too long._


	32. Epilogue: Now, the Rest of the Story

_Charles vs. His Destiny is over. But the story of Chuck, Sarah, Ellie, Awesome, Casey and the others continues, as do all stories. I could (in theory) write a whole series of books based on this AU. So this epilogue contains theoretical excerpts, summaries, and partial scene lists from those subsequent novels. As the series progresses, the ideas are significantly less well-formed, because of the ever-changing nature of a story. Book 5, in particular, would need a lot of work to flesh out._

_Each section starts with a book title. Then comes a summary, like I would put in the field on this site – it's a teaser of what the story is about. Then an "Excerpt" – a part of a single scene from the story written out long-form. Finally, I provide a partial scene list. I used a scene list (somewhat like this) to write Charles vs. His Destiny (with much revision, of course). The scenes provide a much more comprehensive overview of the plot arcs. Scenes in the list are very brief descriptions of what might happen and have admittedly poor English and consistency. A scene can be as short as a single section or it might take several chapters to resolve fully. It's sort of like an outline combined with notes to the author._

_Yes, I know this is hardly the typical format for an epilogue. Then again, I've rarely been accused of being 'typical' or 'normal'. I hope you enjoy!  
_

_If you are curious why I am not writing these novels, check my profile. It doesn't belong in-story._

_**

* * *

**_

_**Book 2: Chuck vs. the Proposal**_

**Summary**

Chuck is growing as the Intersect and in his relationship with Sarah. But as they get closer, the government wants to pull them apart. A mysterious operative proposes an attractive counteroffer which would allow them to be together.

**Excerpt**

**Westminster Presbyterian Church  
May 29, 2008**

Chuck's palms were sweaty, even this far into the semi-familiar rite of passage. Everything added to his nervousness: the uncomfortable but well-fitted tuxedo, the crowd of on-lookers, the woman holding his hands, the mini speaker/microphone lodged in his ear. Instinctively, he looked for comfort in crystal blue eyes.

He found more than comfort in Sarah's eyes. They were intense and focused, boring into him in a powerful and reassuring way. It felt as if the two of them were the only people in the universe, even in the middle of the crowded church. "I do." She spoke the words with such passion that Chuck could barely catch his breath and his knees felt weak. For a moment, he thought he might faint.

He almost didn't catch the preacher's question to him. "And do you, Curt Symborski take Chanelle Lloyd to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forth?"

Hoping his eyes held the same overwhelming commitment that hers had, Chuck replied through a thick tongue, "I do."

They hadn't covered the actual ceremony in their pre-mission briefing. Both had worked reasonably hard to ignore it, in fact. Now that it was upon them, Chuck could think of nothing else. _What if it wasn't just pretend? Why couldn't it be real? No, they weren't ready, but everything happened incredibly quickly in his new world as the Intersect; it almost seemed to be now or never._

"Then by the powers vested in me by the state of California, I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride."

At least Chuck felt comfortable with that aspect. Though opportunities were distressingly rare in their hectic lives, he and Sarah had stolen a few moments of bliss. This kiss, like all of those, left his mind reeling and his heart thundering so loudly in his ears that he was surprised no one complained.

**Scenes**

- Fake wedding scene with Chuck and Sarah as part of a mission. Later in the mission Chuck's flash and their communication leads to great success.  
- Chuck tells Sarah "I love you." She can't respond – both are a bit broken up about it.  
- Mission goes slightly awry because of the disconnect.  
- Briefing with Beckman and Graham -- Sarah and Chuck ordered to cool it -- costing efficiency  
- Text from Sarah to Chuck. "143". Text back: "Do you mean that?" Sarah: "I really do but it's hard … I can't say it. I can't even write it. Not yet." Chuck: "OK – the thought matters more than the words."  
- Awesome's proposal to Ellie. Chuck involved. Balancing work and personal life is difficult. Chuck steps up to ask if Sarah can come. He makes up a story on the spot – comforting each other after Bryce's death. They like Sarah so agree.  
- Mission to stop North Korean plot to assassinate California's governor. They are surprised to find another team on the same mission. They work together very successfully (with S. Korean air force? Lim Yo-Hwan reference?). Then Chuck flashes – team that they worked with was Fulcrum.  
- Discussion with the Fulcrum team – some things are a threat to us all. They knew about it and had to act – just like Team Bartowski did.  
- Ultimatum from CIA/NSA – no more Chuck/Sarah romance or bunker for him and jail for her.  
- Proposal to Chuck and Sarah from Fulcrum team-- defect and join them. They can be together forever. They consider it. Chuck finally tells Sarah they're Fulcrum. Shocked reaction but they still consider it.  
- Chuck proposes to Sarah for real. She doesn't answer right away.  
- Casey intervenes with Beckman and Graham – works to set things right.  
- Chuck and Sarah agree (on surface) to work with Fulcrum – it's their only option.  
- Details still sketchy, but Chuck and Sarah (and Casey) all working together to use their leverage to get inside Fulcrum and major climax is them revealing no loyalty to Fulcrum and destroying much of the leadership.  
- Sarah tells Chuck "Yes". Celebrate!

_**

* * *

**_

_**Book 3: Chuck vs. the Past**_

**Summary**

As Chuck and Sarah prepare for their wedding, their respective pasts come back to haunt them, even as Fulcrum wages its last battle.

**Excerpt**

**Below BarLar, Inc.  
May 25, 2010**

Chuck followed Sarah into the secure facility which now served as the basement below the BarLar offices. He knew she was dreading this conversation, but he had been insistent. Bloodshed was still possible after the conversation, but it was essentially a foregone conclusion without talking things through. The lone occupant of the Spartan environs was Casey, who was cleaning a pistol as if it had insulted his mother.

"Casey," Sarah said, clearly embarrassed. "I … there's someone you need to meet."

"Oh, god," he replied, "I'm not sure I can survive another encounter today. I had the most awful experience this morning. Some hippie lady reeking of marijuana came by the reception hall when I was securing it." If Casey took any notice of Chuck's wild gestures to stop, he didn't show it. He ploughed on. "She wanted me to join in some god-forsaken rally about repealing the second amendment. I swear, if it wasn't for the new administration's distaste for violence against civilians, I would have given her an up-close-and-personal demonstration of why weapons are necessary for self-defense."

Sarah sagged into a seat at the table and Chuck moved in to massage her shoulders. Casey continued to rant, but Chuck tuned him out as he listened to his fiancé moan "Oh no, no, no. This isn't good."

After a moment, Chuck interrupted them both. "Casey, what did she look like?"

"What? Oh, she wore tie-dyed clothes that were probably made out of hippy garbage. Long, obviously-dyed, unwashed hair down past her butt. Blue eyes that could be pretty but a vacant expression ruined that. Why?"

Sarah finally regained control of herself. "That's who I wanted you to meet, John." She took a deep breath before continuing in a shaky voice, "She's my mother."

**Scenes**

- Sarah's dad – lots of reference to vs. the DeLorean (essentially get his blessing)  
- Chuck's dad – not as involved with the Intersect but did have some govt. issues relating to computer development (some supercomputer). Again, NSA/CIA friction (they want him brought in, but Chuck and Sarah help him get away)  
- Sarah's mom – flower child (so many possibilities with Casey). She doesn't approve of any of them, but Chuck eventually wins her over (with Ellie's help). She gives Sarah her wedding dress.  
- Chuck's mom – ex-KGB. Fell in love with dad while on a mission. Been hunted by the USSR ever since. End up faking her death (recurring theme? Joke about that?) She's leaving by bus from airport (harder to track). Chuck and Sarah are there, too. Ch: Do you have any regrets? Mom: Can't live to be 60 without some. *thinks* Things I wish were different, yes. Way to stay safe with you and Ellie. Missions are where hindsight is helpful. But regrets? Not really. If you're wondering about your father, though, no! Best decision I ever made. Sa: Even with everything else? Mom: No doubt about it. She would be worse than dead or on the run then. *gets mushy about how happy seeing Chuck and Ellie happy makes her happy*  
- Other groups Sarah fought (some real danger here – reaffirm how Chuck and Sarah save each other). Sarah saves Chuck physically and Chuck stops her from doing something horrible (she's in a machine gun nest having killed the leaders and children coming – Sarah preparing to shoot). He gives her humanity. The timing of this needs to be all mixed in with dealing with parents.  
- Fulcrum -- going down in the "background" – just a couple minor scenes with finishing off last few bastions of resistance. Somehow, get clues leading to central hide-out which is in Hollywood (ideally Josh Schwartz or Chris Fedak's address).  
- Final showdown with Fulcrum the morning before the wedding.  
- Chuck and Sarah wedding scene (who is there and who isn't – their introspection on many of them).

_**

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**_

_**Book 4: Sarah vs. the Future**_

**Summary**

With the threat of Fulcrum over, the government wants to try a physical Intersect again. What will Sarah do while Chuck is buried in work?

**Excerpt**

**Club Comanche  
St. Croix  
June 15, 2011  
9:47 a.m.**

Chuck stretched lazily as Sarah exited the bathroom after a morning shower. "Mm … what are you doing up so early?" he asked languidly.

Her return look was sharp. "Getting ready for our 10:00 call. Did you forget already?"

"But they promised us two weeks off," he whined. "We just got here. Surely we don't have to worry about that yet."

"Uh … Chuck, honey? Our two weeks are up. Haven't you paid any attention to the calendar?"

Chuck tried to remember fourteen days. He could certainly pull to mind a few exciting times and even a few meals, but there was simply no way two entire weeks had passed since they'd left for their honeymoon. "But what about all the things we were going to do? Kayaking? Swimming with the fishes? Air-conditioned bus tours of the hiking trails?"

She laughed lightly. "I suggested some of those over the last few days." She bent to kiss him but broke it off when he tried to distract her with more than kissing. "You have been rather insistent about not leaving the room."

It was all coming back to him: the delirious joy, the easy agreements, the escape from everything that had haunted them. Mornings never had been his clearest time of day. But how could it be fourteen days already? He still couldn't get over that fact.

Grumbling, he climbed unconcernedly out of bed despite his nakedness and started looking for some clothes. Nearly everything he'd brought was still in place in the dresser where they'd unpacked to get suitcases out of the way. It seemed ridiculous that so much time could have passed, but he pulled on enough clothes to be presentable. Running his finger through his air served in lieu of a comb. Shortly, he was as ready as he was going to be.

In the meantime, Sarah had set up a few pieces of equipment that he recognized as a radio transmitter and a simple web camera. The sight of the small black box between them, more than anything else, signaled the end of paradise. It was a secure connector, reserved for use in communicating with high-level security operatives.

Sure enough, Beckman and Graham appeared shortly, dressed in their typical military precision. "Play time is over." Beckman spoke first, as usual. "We have information that an opium cartel may be staying at Fjell House. They appear to be looking to expand their trafficking operations to include fully automatic weapons. Before you return home, see what you can find out. Tickets to tonight's sponsored beach barbeque will be arriving soon. We expect a report in fourteen hours."

Chuck shared a look with Sarah. It was official. Their alone time together was now officially over. It was time to get back to work.

**Scenes**

- Chuck and Sarah consummate their wedding.  
- Govt. wants physical Intersects and orders Chuck to build them.  
- The whole BuyMoron gang returns. Anna from Microsoft (or the organization from Chuck vs. the Dream Job), rest all still at BuyMore.  
- Chuck works ridiculous hours while Sarah misses him.  
- Sarah accepts a mysterious mission from Graham (without Beckman)  
- Lots of Sarah introspection about what she's doing now, what choices she's made, about the difficulty in staying in shape, about aging, about whatever  
- Sarah and Casey testing hardware Intersect on a mission without Chuck – everything feels off for Sarah. Casey ribs her about it. His teasing hurts her for the first time.  
- Chuck and Sarah at home. Distance between them. Sarah initiates telling him about some past trust issues (Graham's mission). Some of the stories associated with places named in chapter 16 of Charles vs. His Destiny.  
- Chuck apologizes and promises to get his priorities straight. Sarah wonders if that's all that's wrong. Should trust but it's hard to.  
- BuyMore scene with disaster in progress. It's getting late. Chuck tells Morgan to take over and he leaves.  
- What does Sarah want? It's a hard question for her to even ask, even harder to answer.  
- Sarah/Ellie scene(s)  
- Sarah refusing a mission which involves seduction of a mark. Threats from Graham/Beckman but she is adamant.  
- Chuck asks her why. She's still discovering who she is, but she's not the same as she was. She likes her new self better even though she's off-kilter in many ways.  
- Sarah injured on some assignment. She goes to Ellie for treatment, who has become aware, peripherally, that they are spies.  
- Ends with Ellie telling Sarah that she is pregnant. Sarah stunned and excited!

_**

* * *

**_

_**Book 5: Chuck vs. the Unlimited Possibilities**_

**Summary**

Chuck and Sarah work their way out of spy life as automatic Intersects take over Chuck's burdens.

**Excerpt**

**The Walker/Bartowski House  
July 17, 2016**

"Well, that pretty much does it." Chuck looked up from the box he had finished packing. Inside it were the last few pieces of government-owned electronics they had been using. "I think that's everything."

"Uh-huh," Sarah replied, looking up distractedly from the floor where she was playing Settlers of Catan Jr. with Jenna. She noted with satisfaction how Chuck's body had firmed and hardened over the years. He was still the same geek she had fallen in love with, still the first to help out someone in need, but he had grown and matured – not only physically but also in terms of self-control and determination.

They had all served him well as they had struggled to disentangle themselves from their government's clutches. Sarah hadn't considered leaving, or much of anything, honestly, when she had first signed on with Graham. It turned out escaping was a lot more complicated than either of them expected, but the process was now virtually complete.

Sarah felt Chuck's eyes on her. He still affected her in a way that no one else ever could. "What?" she asked.

"Just thinking about something Casey said."

"About something _Casey_ said? Why would you do that?" Dwelling on Casey's words was rarely wise. It might explain the air of melancholy in his voice.

"He wished us the best of luck in our 'normal' life. I gave up on normal long ago. I don't want to go back to it."

Sarah stood up as Jenna streaked out of the room shrieking, completely oblivious to her parents' mood. "Chuck," she said seriously, running a hand over his cheek, "I can think of many words to describe you, but 'normal' is definitely not one of them."

That smile that always touched her heart blossomed across his face. "I know, but … is this going to be enough for you?"

"I like being here. I look forward to coming home to you and Jenna and …." She trailed off, gazing unfocusedly at the wall.

"And what?" he prodded.

"And be quiet, I think I'm having an epiphany here." She was. Suddenly, so many things that she'd never understood were starting to make sense. It all stemmed from the seemingly-innocuous phrase 'coming home'. Chuck knew her well enough not interrupt her reverie while she processed the new information.

It took a bit, but she finally decided how to approach it. She started, "I get it now."

"Get what?"

"The end of _The Lord of the Rings_. Why Merry and Pippin and Sam were so excited to be back in the Shire. The whole concept of 'home'. I've never understood it before. A place of calm and refuge and recharge and love." She smiled in amazement. "I've never had a home before, not really. I've lived places, but …. For the first time in my life, I think I'm home."

Chuck smiled at her broadly. "You never cease to amaze me, Sarah Bartowski."

She relaxed into his embrace basked in her new understanding. Home. It was a wonderful feeling.

**Scenes**

- Human candidates for hosting an Intersect are essentially non-existent. The Intersect project has been so successful that it needs to grow, regardless of any difficulties. (98% success with human Intersect, 87% with local Intersect, 80% with no Intersect)  
- Machines are slower than Chuck, but they seem to be able to build more of them.  
- Casey gets promoted to head of NSA.  
- Major earthquake hits California. Jenna (Chuck and Sarah's daughter) is in danger. Simultaneous mission. No discussion. Jenna comes first for both.  
- Sarah offered a more senior position in CIA. She turns it down.  
- Casey offers them a nice retirement package. One condition = build portable Intersect. After some discussion, they accept.  
- Chuck works on shrinking Intersect. Sarah works on securing it and gives advice on what "portable" might really mean.  
- They discuss what's next. Lots of idle talk about possible careers or permanent vacations or missions to help Africa and whatnot.  
- Chuck and Sarah pack to move out of destroyed area to new house. While packing Chuck flashes on an old item of hers, giving him a view into an incident from Sarah's coincidentally providing key breakthrough to make portable Intersect.  
- Plans passed off to Casey. He commends them on a job well done and wishes them all the best in their "normal" life.  
- Chuck de-Intersects. Fear of danger for both.  
- All goes very well. Only brief convalescence period. No mental problems.  
- What next? "Normal" life? Not if Sarah can help it – she continues to want extraordinary. When it comes down to it, every end is really just a new beginning.

_

* * *

_

_The Tale goes ever on and on__  
On from the scene where it began.  
Now far ahead the Tale has gone,  
Let others write of it, who can!  
Let them a story new commence,  
But I at last with weary mind  
Must turn from writing of suspense,  
At least this particular kind._


End file.
